From Talos, with Love
by Fayth85
Summary: "With great power comes great responsibility. A shame they never mentioned a nocked arrow or a dagger dipped in poison, because I'm not taking responsibility for any of that."
1. Is it my fault?

**_From Talos, with Love_**

**_"With great power comes great responsibility. A shame they never mentioned a nocked arrow or a dagger dipped in poison, because I'm not taking responsibility for any of that."_**

**_Chapter 1—Is it my fault?_**

**_8-8_**

* * *

_Boring. My whole life, boiled down to a single word: boring. I don't know what my parents saw in this backwater hick of a village, but anywhere you find more cows than people isn't a place to grow up—it's a place to die._

I dip my quill in the well, carefully sliding the tip against the neck to even out the ink. I'm not sure where he found a blank book, but I'll not complain.

_And that's exactly what my parents had in mind. Miners, the both of them. Built a homestead right up against the tallest mountain in Skyrim, hoping to start the town's 'new hope' in a mineral find. A shame all there is, is stone—not exactly the rarest of materials, now is it._

_They were, at least, smart about one thing. They told us to steer well-clear of the pilgrims, heading up to High Hrothgar—coincidently the only thing worth of note in this festering wound of a village. _

_Of course, they never realized that the more you tell a child not to, the more they want to do the thing. So, of course, I did the thing. _

_I mean, what choice did I have? The only things to do in this village were help my parents swing a pickaxe, help those idiots farm, and go adventuring. Who wouldn't pick adventuring?_

_Don't get me wrong, I love reading. I loved reading Olaf and the Dragon growing up. I loved the books of riddles I would 'borrow' from the pilgrims—mostly creepy old men, so I never once felt guilt for_

"Reyda!" Surprised by the sudden shouting, the ink spills all over my new book, ruining everything I'd so painstaking written. Typical. "Reyyyda!" I can't even have this one thing without that oaf ruining it.

I swear. One of these days…

Drying the quill on the cloth I had set aside for just that, I set it aside and leave the ink dry any which way it pleases. Ma ain't gonna be happy with it, but I'll care about that the second she remembers how to cook and clean—for reasons other than telling me off.

The door creaks open, too slow to be the wind, but too fast to be ma or da coming in for lunch. Food's almost ready, so I don't doubt the scent of vegetable soup and roasted rabbit haunches carried over to their supposed 'future mine' and they'll come barging in sooner or later to eat.

"Reyda? Why were you hiding? Narfi couldn't find you." I was in plain sight, you…No, Reyda. Stop it. He can't help it any more than you can. It isn't his fault you're stuck here. It isn't his fault talking to everyone from this hick-town is as mentally stimulating as growing carrots. Though, his being born slow certainly isn't helping any.

"I wasn't hiding. Just trying to write in that book you found for me," I say, keeping my tone as light and airy as possible.

His eyes roam up and down the room, obviously already having forgotten why he was looking for me in the first place. I've never figured out why. The room is the same way it's been since I was born, and likely even before that. The same bare wooden walls. The same curtains ma won't let me replace hanging over the three windows. The same closet filled with clothes ma taught me to make, and expects me to maintain for the family.

The same stone hearth da likes to stare at for hours after dinner, drinking his ale to drown his simpleton woes.

The same pot hanging by its hook over the fire.

The same oven beside it that da likes to tell me to use to bake him som'un sweet.

The same wooden bowls and plates and goblets.

The same two-pronged forks.

The same knives.

The same routine, day in, day out, for the last twenty years of my Divines-forsaken existence.

"I'm going out. Be good 'till ma and da get back, okay?"

**_8-8_**

* * *

The hem of my dress drags through the grass as I walk along the riverside. My basket is already full of empty bottles and the ingredients I need—charred skeever hide, mudcrab chitin, hawk feathers, butterfly wings, and blue dartwings. I should have enough to make some Cure Disease and Health Potions. Luckily, with a little wheat starch, they keep well for months—taste and smell like shit, though.

Figuring I have what I need, and I can pluck some blue mountain flowers on the way, I make my way towards Cylben's shack. The sloshing river sings her lullaby as I travel under gloomy mid-winter's afternoon sky. Kyne's beauty is splayed out before me, wrapping my senses in a calm Ivarstead will never match.

Maybe it's because I expect less from nature. Maybe it's because I don't expect bears and wolves to talk alchemy theory or act out scenes from Sixteen Accords of Madness. Maybe it's because I don't expect much of anything other than a serene sort of savagery out here.

All I know is that walking along to the song of the wind dancing along the leafless trees, the ache of the mundane eases.

To be fair, knowing a stimulating conversation awaits isn't hurting any, even if it means having to baby yet another adult that can't seem to function well enough on his own.

It's almost a half hour before I arrive at the simple shack. Knowing Cylben, he's either in the back concocting some new potion or poultice or salve he'll be bragging about, or he's out hunting down new ingredients he can't seem to fathom a way to grow in his meager garden.

The firewood stacked beside the front door looks nearly depleted, again. He hasn't bothered to gather. Again. Shaking my head as I swing the rickety door open, I enter to find the usual muttering coming from the rear door at the other end of this rickety and tiny shack. I can't make out a word, but he's no doubt talking to himself about some ingredient's effect or other.

Closing the door behind me, I walk over to the single bed and plop my bow atop it, quickly setting my basket beside her. I'll never understand how he can live without a proper desk to set his things on, but I figure that's either his nomadic lifestyle at work, or some weird Dunmer thing I'm not meant to understand.

Either way, I open the back door, finding him hunched over his alchemy lab. From the way his elbows dance about, I assume he's grinding something. He knows I'm here. I know he knows. He knows I know. And yet, nothing is said.

He's probably smiling, already trying to predict what I'm going to say.

"You're almost out of firewood," I say. His shoulders shiver, but he doesn't speak. Not sure what that's about, but I figure he has a thing—as usual. Does he come up with those weird things just to tease me?

"You know," he begins just as the soft tapping of wood against wood mixes with the mélange of birds chirping. The sleeves of his earthen brown robe sway rhythmically, as if a prop in a dance. "If you aren't careful, I'll start fantasizing about taking you for my bride."

I snort, shaking my head.

"I'll tell you what. If you gather some firewood for me, I'll have a present waiting for you when you get back."

"You don't even have an axe here," I complain, sighing for good measure. Thinking back, I didn't see much to eat either. "How about this. I'll bring it tomorrow, along with some baked goods. You've gotten too accustomed to eating what you hunt."

"Obviously I need an amulet." His shoulders and voice quiver, so I know he's just teasing me. "You needed more health and cure disease potions?" He turns to me, his red eyes dancing with amusement as he crosses his arms and leans against his little lab.

How does he even know that? "Stalker."

"Is it my fault I pay attention?" I roll my eyes, heading back into the shack—mostly to hide the blush I'm sure my pale complexion does nothing to mask. The crunching of loose dirt follows behind me, stopping at the first tap against wood. I feel his eyes on me, drinking me in. A soft creak of wood comes from higher than the last tap. He leans against the doorframe.

I grab the flower basket, filled with the fruits of my labor. Turning to the back door, I see him. Not the humble shack he calls home. Not the sparse furnishings. Not the wobbly door.

Just the heavy eyelids, just the little smile. Just him.

"Come. Let me show you how to brew the potions."

**_8-8_**

* * *

The fire crackles and pops in the hearth da made. He gazes into the dancing tongues of flame, bringing his favored bottle of mead to his lips, and downing the last of it—if the angle of the bottle is any indication. Part of me wants to cuddle up to him, to feel his arm around me, like he used to when I was a little girl.

Back when he'd let me lay my head against his chest while he drank. Back when he seemed like the smartest man that ever lived. Simpler times—or perhaps the sheen of nostalgia covers those memories like fresh snow, and bear shit barely hidden beneath it.

Either way, I know better. I stand, walking over to him and jerk the bottle right out of his hand.

"Hey!"

I don't even answer him, walking over to the mead barrel and refilling the damnable bottle. The air flutes out at an ever heightening pitch, until I'm certain there's more idiocy in the bottle than is healthy. With that, I storm back over to him and slap the thing against his palm.

He skins up his nose, not even bothering to thank me and probably thinking something snide while he's at it.

"Reyda?" Ma sits to the table. She waggles her wooden goblet, no doubt empty as well. I smile as best I can, mostly to show I don't mind helping her, and walk over. Her salt and pepper hair dances from side to side as I refill for her—as if she's annoyed with me, for some reason.

When I return with her now full goblet, she pats the empty bench beside her. She no doubt wants to talk—it's not as if da or Narfi will be much use to her in that regard.

Planting my ass on the hard, unforgiving wood beside her, I bite back a sigh. I know where this is going. It isn't hard to figure out, given how often this has taken place. It's either 'when are you getting married', 'I want grandchildren', or 'dinner was delicious'. Though, sometimes it's a combination of all three.

"Wilhelm was askin' 'bout you." I sigh and look towards the door, not wanting to talk about that man. "Said 'e needs an extra barmaid."

"Lynly handles it just fine," I say.

"She does. But this ain't 'bout tha'." I sigh again. Cue the _I ain't getting any younger _rant. "You ain't getting' any younger, ya know."

I could remind her that I'm twenty, but she won't care. I could say Cylben would take care of me, but I'm not in the mood to hear whether she's accepting of Dunmer—she probably isn't. I could even say that I can take care of myself, but she'll just disagree with me, per the norm. No, I'm a woman, therefore I need a man to take care of me. I need children so I can pester them to get married as soon as they learn how to walk—just like ma taught me.

"He even sent this for ya," she says, shuffling a little satchel towards me. I open it, finding a dainty silver necklace, and some random-looking alchemical ingredients. As sweet as that is, it's undesired.

I need to get out of this village. I'll never find any peace here.

**_8-8_**

* * *

I set the bread, butter, goat cheese, and apple pie in the flower basket. Grabbing three empty mead bottles, I carefully fill them and stopper them, gently setting them in the basket as well. The room is still plenty warm from baking all morning, not that anyone will even notice. Ma and da left early to the hole in the wall, no doubt intent on carving out yet more stone to sell. Narfi's been helping Wilhelm around the tavern—no doubt that man is trying to worm his way into my family's good graces, to blackmail me that way.

Checking the stew and the time, I figure it's cooked long enough. I grab a thick towel, and take the pot from the its hanging perch near the fire, setting it on the table to cool. Three wooden bowls are set beside it, each with a grooved rim and a cover set beside them I can screw on. Each is carefully filled, and the top is screwed on to keep them from spilling, before joining the rest in the basket.

The only thing missing is the knives. So I walk over to my bed, moving the pillow and grabbing the wrapped bundle I find there.

_The wolves come closer, running towards us to make a meal of us, but Cylben isn't worried. He takes out a strange-looking knife, before I even have the chance to grab my bow. And he pelts it right at them, burying the blade into the wolf's eye._

I shouldn't have been impressed, and yet I pestered him until he taught me how to do that. Even now, as I take the rolled leather pouch and cradle it, I find myself smiling. It was a gift, of course, though he never once told me where he got it.

The strap goes around my waist and I tie it off on one side, resting it against my hip. With everything done I can think of, I don my leather gloves and dagger and quiver—I only have fifteen steel arrows left, I'll need to be stingy until I restock. I grab the basket and my hunting bow on the way out the door.

**_8-8_**

* * *

The early morning sky is overcast, per the norm. It looks like it might snow. My dark amber dress and soft leather boots stick out all the more in pale midwinter. Part of me wonders if Cylben will like the outfit I so painstakingly sewed, while another fears he'll not notice, let alone care.

Instead of walking through the village, I trek around it, staying well out of sight. The last thing I need is everyone and their dog asking me where I'm going or what's in my basket. So I'm careful to avoid their ever curious and gossiping gazes.

"Morning." I snap to the sound, already recognizing Temba's voice. The brunette stands with a woodcutter's axe in hand, the back of its head leaning on her shoulder. Shit. I forgot the axe. "You plan on spoiling the Alchemist again?"

Feeling drains from my face.

"No need to be coy. I've known about you two since he first arrived." I turn from her, unwilling to see her reaction. "You know they won't approve." I sigh, quickly hearing it turn to an annoyed groan.

"What do you want?"

"He ain't been by in months to buy firewood. You wouldn't happen to have something to do with that?" So it's coin you want, huh.

"How much?"

"Huh?"

"Your silence. How much?"

She chuckles, the sound as throaty as it is amused. "Meet me in the Vilemyr tonight. We'll talk."

"No." There's no way I'm agreeing to meeting in Wilhelm's place of business. That'll send him all the wrong signals, and that's the last thing I want. "We'll talk now."

"So you know." I turn to her, her face a pained grimace. "That he's in love with you."

"I asked for your price, Wide-Arm, not your commentary."

"I ain't askin' you to marry the man. I just wanna know." Her free hand grabs her hip, as if to make herself seem steadier in her boots.

"Know what?"

"Why you turn down a husband."

"If you want him, marry him." Hopefully that leaves nothing to the imagination.

"Yeah, I got that. It's the why you're not tellin' me." Her tone sours, her eyes narrow and her lips form a thin line. "I mean, think about it. The Dunmer has a shack. Wilhelm has a tavern. Simple calculation."

"I see." I turn from her, no longer interested in the conversation. It's obvious what this is about. "If I hear anyone talking about this. I'm going to tell everyone about you and Lynly's little tryst."

"You wouldn't!"

"And you're going to start delivering firewood to that shack. Once a week. On Fridas. In the afternoon. Screw up, and you'll find out just how much I know about your fetishes. Do I make myself clear?"

I walk off before she even has the chance to answer.

**_8-8_**

* * *

Freedom, that's what this feels like; walking around this tiny little shack, wearing naught but my undergarments, feeling Cylben's _stuff_ leaking out of me. To be fair, I'm sore and it still hurts a bit—the one thing ma never warned me about, losing my maidenhood. But feeling his eyes on me as I start cutting the bread and buttering it and cutting slices of cheese and rabbit haunch to go with it?

His gaze feels hungry, though not for the food I prepare. I like that most of all.

In the corner, nearest the door, the faded leather knapsack lies filled with whatever Cylben got for me. I don't know, I haven't looked as yet. All I know, is that I fully intend to entice him another few times before I even bother with that.

"So who found out about us?" I stab the butter, spreading it onto the bread. "Someone you don't like very much. Is there going to be a problem, Lady Bear-Slayer?"

I shake my head, standing and walking over to him. I straddle his waist, feeling his calloused hands on my thighs, exploring me just as carefully as before. With a teasing finger-waggle, I invite him to come have a bite.

"I've never seen you this upset about something." His gaze never leaves mine, even though he knows I mean to spoil him a little.

"What makes you think I'm upset?"

"Is it my fault for paying attention?" I snort, trying to hide a smile that peeks out a little more with each of his teasing touches. "Talk to me?"

I sigh, my shoulders sagging. "It's Temba Wide-Arm. She says she's known since you arrived."

"I see." He grins, his bright red eyes quite pleased with the news. He sits up, taking a bite from the sandwich I offer. "So you've been in love all this time?"

Heat steals across my face. "Will you be serious."

"A man can't feel pride for stealing your heart?" Even through the food in his mouth, I hear the shiver of laughter. He swallows, taking another bite. His hands roam up and down my back, his touch gentle and oh so warm. "Then again. Your feeding me is as telling as your state of dress."

He leans in, so close our noses touch. His eyes light up with a thousand different emotions—all vying to steal the air from my lungs. He looks like he wants to kiss me, to start me up once again.

"Someone's ego seems a bit inflated." Something taps against my bum, and a sudden warmth will not recede. "That's not what I meant."

He laughs, taking another bite.

**_8-8_**

* * *

Night rolls in. The shack is so cold that we either have to get dressed or go outside to get more firewood. We haven't gotten out from under the pelts, so I assume he's perfectly okay with staying under here just a little longer.

"It's a spellbook," he says, a bit out of the blue. "What I got you. Well, a few spellbooks, actually." He knows spells?

"Oh?"

"What? Did you think alchemy was my only thing?"

"I never said that."

"You were thinking it."

"Stalker."

"Is it my fault for paying attention?"

I swat him. How does he even know what I'm thinking?

"Do you want to know what spells?" I nod. "Well. Go have a look."

"It's cold out there." I snuggle up to him, refusing to not feel his warmth.

"Careful, Reyda. You'll inflate my ego."

"You're not getting another round. I'm so sore I'll be amazed if I can walk tonight." His chest quakes, taking my world with it. "So what are you into?"

"Oh, the usual. Missionary, doggy sty—"

I swat him, harder this time. He only laughs.

"My father taught me Conjuration and Destruction. My mother taught me Alchemy and Enchanting."

"Must be nice," I murmur, a pang of jealousy washing over me. "My parents are so obstinate when it comes to magicka and spells and the like. So even Alchemy is a bridge too far."

"Most Nords would agree with them."

I snort, moving my head over to get comfortable—his shoulder seems to like poking my cheek. When I hear his heart beating, I know I'm exactly where I need to be. "So what spells?"

"You know. For some reason I just can't remember."

"You want to see me bending over to look." The thoughtful noise tells me all I need to know.

"I even have a necklace in there."

"That's low."

"Well, I put it on the ground for a reason." It was like that when I got here.

Waaaaaaait a minute! "You planned on seducing me?"

"I've been seducing you for months. The only difference is my success."

Laughter jumps up from nowhere. I shouldn't, it'll only encourage him further.

**_8-8_**

* * *

I hold the spellbook, finding an odd tooth-shaped symbol taking up most of the center of faded purple leather. Tilting the book, I read the title from the spine.

Conjuration—Novice—Bound Dagger

"A dagger spell?"

"You're just starting out. So this is a good a place as any. I have a few others as well, but you can't learn them until you've improved."

I noise thoughtfully. Well, that makes sense. I mean, daggers are comparatively small.

"What I want to teach you first, is how to monitor your progress."

"Huh?"

"Just trust me." He pats the ground between his thighs, obviously asking me to sit there.

"So I get between your thighs for a change." He smirks, his coal eyebrow cocked a smidge.

"Come on. Sit cross-legged."

"I'm serious. Not tonight."

"Ye of little faith," he teases, patting the ground again. I roll my eyes, but set the book back into the bag and make my way over to him. I'm at least glad I got dressed and put some wood in the fire—it's still chilly, but I'm no longer breathing smoke.

Once I'm seated, and I cross my legs, his arms snake around my middle. I smile, snuggling up to him.

"No no. Now we focus." I nod, leaning my head into the crook of his neck. "Reyda." He flicks my nose—stupid habit of his.

I groan, but sit upright all the same. He pulls me back just a little, tempting me to cuddle once again. Still, whatever it is he means to show me seems important to him.

"Close your eyes."

The world goes dark but for the flickering flames.

"Take a deep breath."

The mute whistle of air being sucked into my lungs.

"Be at peace."

My shoulders relax, lowering as I take another deep breath.

"Picture the night sky. Dark, with specks of light."

I imagine lying outside, in the snow, looking up at the sky with him. The stars twinkle. The clouds slowly fade from view. Slowly the aurora borealis lights up, both blocking the stars, and at the same time not.

"Do you see the northern lights?"

I nod.

"Do they block the stars?"

I shake my head.

"Good. Let the clouds roll out of the way."

That already happened, but I nod all the same.

"Peer up at those stars. See into them."

I try to, but there's a sinking feeling in my tummy that seems to be making me dizzy somehow.

"Calm. Be at peace."

I take a deep breath.

"Calm. Be at rest."

I take another deep breath.

"Good. The stars."

Feeling weightless, somehow, feeling of cold recedes. The stars grow bright, bright as the sun, but still but specks in the inky black. The lights seem to glow behind the stars. I can almost make out a mage holding out a staff.

"Do you see the mage?"

I nod.

"Good. Reach out. And touch a star."

I raise my hand, only to feel it jerked back down and set on my thigh.

"Not like that. With your mind. Reach out and touch a star."

I focus on the southernmost star, but I have no idea how to touch it.

A swirling of energy within me draws my attention.

"You're so close. Breathe. Calm. Be at peace."

What's this got to do with the funny energy?

"Focus, Reyda."

How do you even know I'm not focusing?

"You're thinking. Don't think. Do."

I take a deep breath, trying to coral my thoughts.

The energy shoots up my spine, cold and hot at the same time, like a flash of lightning during a storm.

A blip of light. The star glows brighter, grows larger. As if I'm coming closer to it. Weird symbols splay out before me, almost as if words written on a page. Though in no language I've ever seen.

Except that one. It looks like the symbol on the spellbook.

"Do you see the texts?"

I shrug, but nod all the same.

"Can you read it?"

I shake my head, no.

"What does it look like?"

"Funny scribbles. One of them looks like the symbol on the book."

"That…?"

I open my eyes, turning to him only to find him slack-faced and wide-eyed.

"It. No, that. That can't be…"He jumps to his feet, for some reason. I fall back a little, not having expected that.

He runs over to his knapsack, rummaging through it for something. He comes back with a sole book, opening it and showing me a page.

"Oh, good. I thought I was imagining things," I say, recognizing the funny symbols. "So what was that about?"

"You…" He can't seem to form too many words just now. What's that about? "This is written in Daedric script."

I blink. "And that's…got what to do with me?"

He stares, his jaw hangs low, though I doubt he notices. "Do you even know who the Daedra are?"

"Raised in a house where all things magickal in nature were taboo," I remind him.

Laughter. Soft at first, as if it jumped up and surprised even him. Slowly it becomes more and more incredulous, as if he was told the best joke in the world, only to realize in the most morbid and depressing way, it isn't a joke, that none of this is a joke. Or even funny.

His laughter devolves to the point I can't tell if he's laughing or crying.

I blink.

"Still lost here."

**_8-8_**

* * *

As I lay on the roof of ma and da's home and gaze up at the sea of stars, I find myself lost. Utterly blindsided by what little of this I understand. Cylben didn't explain much, only that I need to learn to read that script, and that he had to travel up north to talk to an old friend of his about whatever this is.

He left his books with me, saying I should start learning all I can and demanding that I practice my conjuration. He seemed adamant that I will need 'allies' sooner than I suspect—whatever that means. I mean, I can understand he feels things are going to get weird for some reason or other. But in Ivarstead? What are the odds of anything important happening here?

Unless, of course, I'm not meant to stay in this place. But where would I go? Just anywhere? I'd love to, but who'll take care of Narfi? Ma and da barely know what to do with him now, let alone if I weren't here to deal with him.

I used to fear I'd never leave this village. But really, I've never been anywhere. I've heard of High Hrothgar, of the holds, of their capitals, and of Riverwood and Helgen—mostly because they're so close. But that's it. Well, I know a lot of history, but what good would royal politics do me? I mean, me! Daughter to piss poor miners in the middle of nowhere.

Cylben's shack is the furthest from the village I've ever gone. And the worst I've ever had to face was a bear that thought me a snack. There was that one time I thought bandits were after me, but that turned out to be Wide-Arm in a drunken fit cursing about bears.

What was I even thinking about?

Cylben. What is it about you? Why do you take the simplicity of my world and make it so impossible to understand? You said you'd be gone no more than a week, but why? What are you out there hoping to find? And why? Why were you so adamant that I shouldn't leave ma and da's home until you come for me? Does this have to do with those stories you'd tell me about your family's traditions?

What is going on?

**_8-8_**

* * *

The spoon lifts, filled with stew. It comes to my lips, tilting slightly to offer me easier access. It's thick, almost chowder—considering the potatoes in there, I can't say I'm surprised. The venison chops are just about ready, too. It's quite the meal, but I do have some making up to do—seeing as ma was furious I left without a word, and stayed away all night, to boot.

The door swings open. Curious, I turn to find ma and da entering, with Narfi a step behind them. Narfi's eyes are wide, and he seems to be biting his lip. But ma and da are just as stoic as ever. Figuring Narfi and da had another heart-to-heart, I order everyone to the table.

While they're settling in, I grab the bowls and plates they'll need, setting the table for them. It wouldn't kill them to help, but that's a dead horse I don't much feel like beating again.

Once they have their spoons and goblets and food, everything really, I sit beside ma and join them in eating—would it have killed them to wait until I was seated?

Not a word is said, per the norm. They dip their spoons in the stew, they slurp, they stab the meat with their blunt fork, they bite. The only sounds are the clatter of cutlery and da's open-mouthed chewing. Ew.

"Are you trying to catch flies?" I ask. Da glares, but closes his mouth, chewing every bit as loud—it just lacks the smacking sound.

"Hey, Reyda? Can you bake bread tomorrow? You never bake any bread anymore."

"What are you talking about? I bake bread every day." And no one seems to notice.

"Nuh uh! I didn't see you bake nothing!"

"Please don't shout," I chastise him. He looks away, grumbling something under his breath. "And if you don't think I bake, then you should give me a hand tomorrow."

"No way," he complains, pouting. "Cookin's for girls!"

Sigh. If I didn't think you believing that would stop you from burning the house down, I would slap your father for saying that to you.

Sigh. What's worse, is knowing that his is all my life would ever be if I stay. And yet, no one would take care of you if I leave. Sigh. What a stupid situation.

"Then I guess you'll just have to trust me."

**_8-8_**

* * *

Days pass. Almost a week. No sign of Cylben.

I focus my magicka, watching in awe as the light coalesces into a dagger before I grab it out of thin air. It's annoying to only be able to practice this on the roof, seeing as everyone would have a fit that I'm learning spells. But at least this gets me away from the usual crap I go through after dinner.

I just don't understand. What's with the ever-increasing fascination with making me stay home? Can't I have some adventure in my life? Can't I do something new and interesting?

You know what? Damn that!

I get up, moving down the roof and jumping down onto the hay bale. I move into the house, keeping as quiet as I can, and grab Cylben's knapsack along with my bow and quiver. No idea where I'm going, but anything's better than staying cooped up here until the end of time.

As I close the door, the island in Lake Geir comes to mind. Or, more specifically, that cave I've never dared to explore before. I should be able to handle a few skeevers and spiders, right?

**_8-8_**

**_End Chapter 1_**

**_8-8_**

* * *

**_A/N: Someone needs to talk to my muse, and tell her t focus damn it! Seriously. I've been sitting on this story for months now, but I have like a dozen others already in the works.  
_**

**_FML._**


	2. Is it my fate?

**_From Talos, with Love_**

**_"With great power comes great responsibility. A shame they never mentioned a nocked arrow or a dagger dipped in poison, because I'm not taking responsibility for any of that."_**

**_Chapter 2—Is it my fate?_**

**_8-8_**

* * *

Walking. Just walking. How did I get here? I don't understand. One minute I'm entering that stupid cave. The next, I'm surrounded. I don't understand. I just don't understand.

Think, Reyda. Think.

I walked through the village. Passed Wide-Arm's lumber mill, passed Fastred and her parents' farm. Nothing out of the ordinary. Two of the guards on patrol. I nodded to them, they returned the sentiment. Again, nothing out of the ordinary. Though the purple of their uniform did seem a little funny under the moonlight—I'd never left the house in the dark, so who's to say if that's normal or not.

Passed between Klimmek's and the Vilemyr Inn. Lynly was singing something, a slight slur to her voice. I figure that was normal, given the time. And there were plenty of praise and cheers going up. I'm used to da, and he isn't like that at all when he's drinking—again, don't know if that's normal.

I got to the bridge. Nothing out of the ordinary. Crickets chirping, owl hooting, some foxes scuttling about in search of an easy meal.

My knapsack felt a little off, so I remember working the straps. Did I lose track of my surroundings? I don't know. I don't think so.

I took a left, off the beaten track and followed the river for a bit. The waterway widened, signaling the beginning of Lake Geir. The dartwings were fluttering about, but there were no other sounds, no other sights.

The thought of predators bubbled up, so I clearly remember peering into every shadow, gripping my bow tight with an arrow nocked, ready and waiting for any little sign.

Nothing. I saw nothing.

I was careful crossing the river, after reaching my usual spot where the water comes up just above the knee. No need risk my knapsack, Cylben's books, or my bow. Again, I peered into every shadow, but there was nothing to see.

Arrived at the cave entrance. Dunno what that place is called, and asking around usually got the same answer: Don't matter what it's called, don't you go in there.

I figured spiders, skeevers. Maybe a bear or two if I was really unlucky—but they have a cave to the east, so why would they take this place, too? No, there were no signs of bears on that isle, and I certainly went there often enough to know that. Even on the brightest days, there wasn't a single tree with bear claw markings.

So, entering the cave wouldn't have been a big deal—though it was a logic my throbbing heart didn't agree with. It isn't a feeling I ever had, other than when Cylben's eyes drank me in as I loosened the ties of my dress.

Of course, I found the spiders before they found me. Even in the pitch of night, even in the inky blackness of the cave. I saw them. And I blazed an arrow into both of them without a problem. My senses weren't the problem, either.

There was even a corpse…the remains of a man. A bandit, I think. I remember, I squatted beside him, took his pouch with his things—a steel mace, an iron dagger, steelcuffed boots, but nothing else of interest—put them into my knapsack…yes…I remember I found the satchel ma said came from Wilhelm. I remember being irritated by it—why would that be in my knapsack? I certainly didn't put that there.

When I stood back up, there were two bandits behind me. No sound to warn me, no movement to be missed. They were just…there.

"Now hold on, lassie." His tone wasn't malicious or commanding, it was calm, soothing. His hands motion for me to relax. "No screamin'. And no putting up a fight. Wouldn't want to have to kill your brother."

I don't remember anything after that. Not really. It was as if it was too much for me to take in. And yet, the one thing that stood out most, was the speaker and the woman beside him. They never said their names, of course. But they are the ones walking beside me.

The woman. Neck-length hair, but I dare not guess the color by pale moon's light. The man. Same. Both wear the same leathers. Even now, they move without making a sound. In fact, mine are the only footfalls I hear. And I hear them breathing, so they aren't wraiths.

I don't understand. How did they know to find me there? Did they know to find me? Were they looking for me? Do they think I assaulted the bandit?

They aren't guards, that much is certain. Not guards from the Rift, at any rate. And they're so confident. So much so, they didn't ask I be disarmed. They didn't tie my hands. Nothing.

Was I put under a spell? Am I being carted off to some vampire lair?

I don't understand, and I can't even work my jaw well enough to ask, numb as it and my lips are.

It's so cold. Freezing, really. But they don't seem bothered by it. Am I the only one feeling cold?

"Still can't believe we're doin' this," the man says, sounding almost exasperated.

"Who cares. She's cooperating. More than I can say for you." The woman clearly isn't interested in this. I just clutch my knapsack tighter. I don't understand. I just don't understand. My feet don't mind, they just keep going, one in front of the other.

It feels like we've been walking forever. Two forevers.

The torches are out. Harder to track, I suppose.

"Cooperatin', huh? She looks ready to spew her dinner."

Charred skeever hide. Good for restoring stamina, curing disease, resisting poison, and restoring health.

"Can't say I blame her. Nothing worse for a woman than to be around you."

"Ouch."

Bees. Good for…is it hot? It certainly feels warmer than it did a moment ago.

"Just relax." A weight on my shoulder. I drop to the ground, hands on my head to protect me from the incoming blows. But I don't make a sound—none that my ears pick up, anyway.

_Come quietly, or we kill your brother._

Those words loop in my head, louder than thunder on a soundless night. Narfi. I can't stand that oaf. I hate how he never gives me a moment of peace, the way he can't do much of anything without bailing him out of trouble, how he's treated like a king while I'm but a handmaid. But he's my brother, my only brother. I'll die before I let anything happen to him.

"You go and scare her, then—"

Loud panting. The stench of long-rotten meat meets unwashed deer. A bestial howl, too deep and throaty to be a wolf.

"Great. Trolls. And things were going so well."

"Well. It's not as if lady luck likes us." Someone grabs my shoulder, roughly jerking upwards. "Keep up or I'll let them have you."

**_8-8_**

* * *

Time trudges on, glacial and uncooperative. We make a wild dash down to a lake with two trolls _escorting_ us, and I'm shoved into a boat and told to 'get comfortable'. Comfort would include letting me leave, so I assume they mean to sit down.

It isn't a moment later that the wobbling starts churning my stomach—as if I didn't have enough reason to vomit. The whole time, all I can think, is that I'm going to die. Or maybe I'm already dead and just don't know it.

The only sounds now are the soft splashes of the oars slapping the gentle waves as they collide with the side of the boat. Unless I count my heart throbbing in my ears. Wherever we are or are going, there isn't a doubt in my mind it isn't going to be good for me.

As if things weren't already bad enough, we arrive as some rickety docks. Unfortunately, it's all lit up, showing some impressive boats, some maddened lizard clearly muttering to themselves, and the scent of fish slaps my nose like a warhammer.

"Keep your mouth shut, hear?"

I hug my knapsack tight.

The boat slows, before its side slaps against the dock. My arm is grabbed once again, and I'm jerked up onto the uneven wood. Even from where I stand, I see Rift guards, their uniform the same purple of those in Ivarstead.

I say nothing of it, I don't try to make eye contact—it's not as if they'll know to save Narfi.

My muddied boots plop along, in keeping with my captors. We head up some stairs, rounding some fish-reeking building, and right towards a guard standing beside some kind of wooden gate. A hand grips my elbow, mutely warning me and reminding me of their earlier threat.

The urge to shout almost becomes too much, but Narfi's picture crowds that out.

"You expect me to believe you were just out fishing? At three in the morning?" the guard demands, his voice almost a growl. "What's next? That you reeled that one in? Maybe she's a siren here to eat me."

"Show some respect, brute." The woman grips me tighter, the pain so intense tears fall before I can hope to stop them. "The girl just lost her parents."

The guard's eyes land on me, but I don't trust myself to not beg for my life. I look away.

A drawn out sigh punctuates the night, before we're ordered through. My insides twist into a stony knot as we walk past him, which only tightens further as we pass more and more guards. These people…

I'm led through a ghostly marketplace, hearing a few beggars pleading for coin. Passed an important and large building—fit for a jarl, but that just cuts deeper. And we enter a cemetery.

Instead of hearing steel unsheathed, it's a soft click and the groaning of an iron gate swinging open. My eyes pop open, though I don't know when I closed them, and I find myself in a dark courtyard about the size of the garden I kept.

Wood shifts and rubs against stone, before two more creaking sounds ring out—the gate behind us closes, and a door over to the right opens. I'm led inside, into a room with a thick and vertical wooden beam just as I enter, and a table with a single goat horn fitted with a prong and wax candle.

"Welcome to Riftweald Manor."

**_8-8_**

* * *

The crackling fire roars in the hearth. The wind howls from the unseasonal storm outside, one we missed by mere hours. The thundering rain and claps of lightning hint being outside isn't the sanest choice just now.

And yet, here I sit. Warm, if still dirty from the most insane night of my life. I stare into the dancing tongues of flame, seeking answers that elude me.

There's a double bed behind me, fashioned of the sturdiest wood and gilded with dragon symbols and an ornate chest at its feet. Another goat horn fitted into a candle hangs above its head, with mounted deer antlers above it—no doubt some kind of weird symbolism that this is a man's bed.

Two finely crafted wardrobes also call this room home. Both are filled with the finest clothing and gloves and boots. And three shelves, one laden with the finest silver goblets and bottles of mead and wine, another with alchemist satchels. The last is filled with books, though I dare not read their names off their spines.

The room smells of dragon tongue and lavender, of charred wood from the fire, and old dust. There hasn't been a woman living here in years—no self-respecting woman would tolerate such a stuffy home.

And yet, the clothes and boots and gloves, all women's wear. The outfit strewn over the chair beside me is the finest dress and jacket combo I've ever seen, the soft and thick cotton seeming fit for the coldest of winters. The boots sitting beside that chair are of the softest leather, strung with a strong-looking string. And the gloves look to be silk.

The double doors swing open. A man storms in, silent as death. His neck-length bright brown hair jitters about with his every move. His dark eyes weigh me, judge me before I speak a word. The strange pommel of the sword at his side hints this isn't a Nordic blade, though it seems to be one-handed all the same. And the outfit. It's all leather and pockets, as if he needs a thousand little places to stow things on his person.

He grabs the arms of the chair I'm in, almost tossing me to one side so I'll face the other chair. The clothes laid out are tossed onto the bed without a care, and that chair drags closer to me, the groaning and scraping echoing off every surface and curdling my blood.

"Your name is Reyda. Daughter to Ignald and Yur. Sister to Narfi." He sits, his glare piercing me clean through. "You don't keep friends, other than the Dunmer alchemist that built a shack near Ivarstead to stay close to you. He taught you Alchemy, Conjuration, and the Detect Life spell, though this is the only Alteration spell you know."

With every word, a fresh nail is hammered into my coffin.

"Your parents are miners by trade. Your brother is slow. And you are an exceptionally talented young woman. But what you don't realize, is that I chose you not for your skill. It's because if I kill you, no one will even notice you're gone."

Tears sting in my eyes as I grip the armrests.

"So here's your situation boiled down to basics. You will live here, in my manor. You will craft potions for me. And you will never give me reason to kill you, your brother, or your parents. Do you understand?"

I nod, the motion sending moisture down the sides of my face.

"However, I am aware that a happy worker is a hard worker. So. Here's how this is going to play out. I will give you a list of potions I need crafted. You will write down all the ingredients you need. You will be given the ingredients and a deadline. The further ahead of schedule you are, the more pleased I will be. The more pleased I am, the more I will reward you."

Muffled screams stab the edge of my hearing, steadily growing louder and louder along with the heavy thuds and clanks of steel boots. The stairs creak and groan as both sounds grow louder still. Until at last a bear of a man comes into view, entering with a writhing cloth sack in hand.

The man dumps the sack on the bed, loosening the ties, and revealing a Nord girl barely half my age.

"Your first present under my patronage. Her name's Sofie. And she'll be the one you test all potions on." Tears turn into rivers. "Don't fret. She's an orphan. No one will miss her."

The girl stills, though her sobs don't follow suit.

"Now. We'll begin. I'll need a potion of invisibility, and enhance sneak. You have one hour to write down the ingredients you need."

The same man comes over, holding a piece of parchment, an ink well, and a quill.

The girl. This Sofie. Her eyes plead with me. I don't doubt that if I refuse, she'll be the one to suffer. And if I screw up with ingredients or crafting, she'll suffer just the same.

I take the items offered, dipping the quill in the ink now set on the armrest, and unfurling the parchment and setting it in my lap. I move slowly, trying to write as neatly as my shaking hands will allow.

_Invisibility: charus eggs, ice wraith teeth, luna moth, nirnroot, vampire dust. Fortify Sneak: Abecean longfin, beehive husk, frost mirriam, hawk feathers, purple mountain flower. I'll need two or three of each per potion. Preferably three. An Alchemist Lab. And two small vials._

I hand him the parchment, ink still wet.

He barely glances at it, a glowing smile taking him over. "Excellent. I have the things you need. Come, you'll have one hour to craft both potions."

He jumps to his feet, walking out of the room. I follow, my heart thrashing in my skull. Out into the large hall, over to the right, there's an alcove I didn't notice before, hidden behind a bench beside the rickety stairs. In the hidden, doorless room is an alchemy lab, a desk with two chairs, and a goat horn chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Strewn over the desk are the exact ingredients I just detailed.

I don't ask. I take the ice wraith teeth and start grinding them into a little dish. Setting that aside for a moment, I light a candle and set it to one side, setting up a cast iron holder over it and pouring the crushed teeth into a glass vial so it'll melt quicker.

While that's busy, I take the nirnroot and the luna moth wings, and grind them with the mortar and pestle, each separately, of course. When the teeth are fully liquidized, I out the flame, and take a pipet to extract the liquids from the wings and nirnroot.

Six drops of nirnroot extract to two of the moth wings. I stopper the vial and shake it vigorously for a minute, setting that aside.

While that cools, I start cleaning the instruments for the second potion.

Shaking the dish to dry it faster, I go back to the desk and grab the frost mirriam and the purple mountain flowers. They're both dried, so I'll need to rehydrate them.

"I'll need a cup of clean water," I say.

"In the drawer." I don't even want to know why that's in there. Desk's drawer opens, and there's a fat, cubic vial of clear glass. I take it out, unstop and smell it. River water, still fresh. Good enough.

I pour a teaspoon into two vials, before shredding the two selected plants as tiny as I can and adding them—frost mirriam to one, purple mountain flower to the other. I set them both over a once again lit candle, letting them do their own work.

While that's going on, I grab the abecean longfin, cutting it open length-ways. I take the liver and the heart, putting them into the mortar, smashing them with the pestle until there's nothing left to gain from it.

I set that aside, checking the other two. The mountain flowers' water is already turning violet, so there's nothing to worry about. The frost mirriam doesn't turn color, it smells like unwashed feet.

I let them steep for another few minutes, before outing the candle and pouring the teas into another vial, and pipetting the oils from the mortar and adding that into the mix.

With that handled, I set about cleaning everything again, tossing the offal into a bucket for disposal.

"Ten minutes. Not bad." I don't turn to my captor. I'm not in the mood to see if he means that or not. "Bring the girl."

"They're hot. They'll need at least five minutes to cool," I say. No matter, the girl is brought, her hands and feet still tied, and her face slack.

"You have your time limit. She'll drink them both before that."

I sit. I wait. I try to block out the sheer panic on the girl's face. "Bring her."

I unstop the Fortify Sneak, and bring it to her lips. "I need you to trust me," I murmur as I pull the gag out of her mouth. "If you spit it out, it'll cost more time, and we don't have that. So try to swallow it quickly."

She gulps painfully, not liking this anymore than I do.

I tilt the vial, pouring the contents into her. One big gulp and two smaller, she still makes a disgusted face.

Her eyes widen, and she starts looking around her as if she sees something I don't. I hate that potion. It makes you hyper aware of every sound around you.

I grab the invisibility potion and unstop it. She winces, closing in on herself at the little pop—it must sound like an explosion to her. Bringing the vial to her lips again, I pour its contents into her. When she swallows, a violet light erupts from her eyes, enveloping her and robbing her of all color. Her clothes, her binds, everything of hers disappears.

Setting the two empty vials onto the desk, I await the verdict.

Nothing.

Nothing is said, no movement made.

Nothing.

The girl—or where I assume she is, given the man still holds her—is enveloped in violet light once again as the effects wear off.

"Thirty seconds," he says, nodding. "Very well, Reyda. My name is Mercer Frey. And from now on, you are in my employ."

I can't tell. Should I be happy, or puke?

"There will be four men standing guard at all times. They are forbidden from entering your room. Scarlet here will be your personal guard. She is to be at your side at all times." A short, lithe redhead walks into view, her bright blue eyes fixed on me. "That means even while bathing, she'll be there. Understood?"

I nod.

"Good. You'll have your next list by morning. I want you to go over it carefully, and you will start growing as many ingredients as you can. Come up with a plan on how to do that, write it down, and give it to Scarlet. She'll relay everything to me."

And just like that, he turns and leaves. Not a word.

Puke. Puking is definitely the right reaction.

**_8-8_**

* * *

Cylben.

Lying in some stranger's city, in some stranger's house, in some stranger's bed, sleep doesn't come. Sofie doesn't suffer the same. After washing up and getting a warm meal in her, she pestered me for all of ten seconds to sleep in my bed before I gave in. She fell asleep almost instantly. As for me?

All I have are my memories. Memories of finding a lone Dunmer being attacked by wolves, and how I had to bail his scrawny hide out. That was the first time his eyes found mine, the caution he regarded me with, until he noticed my arm being cut up.

He demanded I come to his tent, so he could make a salve to heal me. I turned him down, of course—going off into the woods with some strange man didn't strike me as smart, and I said as much. He just laughed, that cocky little laugh of his, and said the strangest thing to me.

"If I can't even handle a few wolves, sera. What are the odds I can take you?" Of course, he chuckled again, and even went so far as to add, "I'll tell you what. I'll stay where you can see me. And I won't make any sudden moves."

Just like that, he disarmed me with that smooth tone and silver tongue. That rogue of an alchemist stole my heart that first day, and never once did he ever apologize for it. No, he'd just quirk his lips, offering either that smug little smirk, or that rakish smile. And he'd go out of his way to show me how to craft every potion over and over and over.

"You've already shown me this one." I remember complaining over and over, but I can't lie. Feeling him wrap his arms around me from behind, feeling his warm breath on my neck and ear and face as he whispered his instructions to me…

"Are you saying I shouldn't explain it again?" And of course, he had to say it with that cocky smirk obvious in his tone, as if he knew what he was doing to me and wanted nothing more than to do it again.

How odd. That I have more happy memories with a man I've known just under a year, than I do with my family. Maybe it was because I learned things from him. Maybe it was the sense of nostalgia in his tone as he lectured on and on about Mysticism, and how stupid he found Nords to be by reorganizing a system of identifying spells that the Dunmer worked with since the beginning of the second era.

Or maybe it was because I didn't have to dim my intelligence to actually connect with him.

With Narfi, fine. He develops slower than most, so that's to be expected. But no one else had that excuse. Fastred was always more into boys, even while her granma was teaching us about rotating crops and tending the soil and everything else.

And…

And…

Wow. I guess I really didn't pay much mind to anyone else. They were all older, but I quickly found they just couldn't keep up with me. Not even ol' Klimmek, and he's the smartest the village ever produced, according to him at least. Still, he owns the largest house, so that has to count for something.

And how did that idiot even survive this long? He couldn't even hold his own against a few wolves, but he set his shack up in bear-infected lan…ds… He had a tent when I first met him…He started building his shack soon after…

My chest tightens at the realization of the changes he made for me, at the changes I subject him to.

If only I'd listened. If only I'd have fought back. Now, when he gets back from wherever he left to, he'll only find me missing. And no one knows where to start looking.

What's worse. What if they find me? Then what? This Mercer Frey, he not only found me in fucking Ivarstead, but he somehow learned all about me. Everything short of my menstrual cycle, and I get the feeling that's only because he didn't want to.

Where in Nirn can you run when someone like that is after you?

**_8-8_**

* * *

Potion of Waterbreathing(5). Potion of Strength(5). Potion of Invisibility(20).

Frey's list isn't too demanding. I suppose this has more to do with testing me without him being here. I carefully stipulate the ingredients I need, noting how salmon roe is the preferred ingredient for his waterbreathing, and I hand the parchment to Scarlet.

But once that's done, there isn't really a whole lot for me to do. So, I figure it's time to start making myself too tired to not sleep at night.

I start studying my prison. Three rooms on the upper floor—four if I include the alchemy alcove. Only Sofie's and my room and the alchemy alcove are furnished. The room to the front balcony is barricaded, but I'm not sure what that's about. Hmm, no windows anywhere. That's horrid for growing plants—they tend to need light.

The other room, on the same side as my bedroom, it's almost a half larger, but filled with crates and barrels and useless junk. Hmm. Not sure what how to make that useful.

"Reyda?" I turn, finding Sofie scurrying to my side. She wraps her arms around my middle and cling to me like I'm her great protector. In this crowd, I'm as close as she's likely to get.

Dragging her along, I head downstairs, studying the sparsely furnished sitting room. There are a statue of Dibella, more silver goblets, some fancy bowls; trinkets, mostly. And it's just as dusty here as my room. Hmph, slackers.

Hmm. There's a staircase heading down, likely the cellar.

I head down, finding the food stores—bread, cheeses, jerked meats, and sweet rolls. The room is chilly, cold enough to breathe smoke. But really, most of the house is cold. There's no kitchen, no ingredients for cooking. Nothing. These people have no idea how to live off the land.

And what the hell do people see in sweet rolls?

Alright. So, what we're facing here is a lack of everything I need.

The creaking stairs tells of another coming down behind us. Scarlet, no doubt. Well, if she doesn't follow orders, she's the one that'll get in trouble. So I'll leave her to it. I could, however, use this as an opportunity.

"How does Frey expect us to eat? There's no kitchen, no ingredients, nothing." I've spent enough time around housewives, I know how to pass as one.

"If you need something. You make a list," is all I get.

"Alright." If that's how this'll go, then let's make this worth suffering through. I head up to the top floor, into the alchemy alcove, and I sit down.

Quill dips into ink, parchment unrolls, I start listing the goals given to me and how impossible it is.

_Grow plants: impossible. For the following reasons. _

_1\. Plants need sunlight, and there are no windows. Unless you gather crimson nirnroot or Ashland flora—the former I know not where to find, the latter can be found on Solstheim or in Morrowind. _

_2\. I need soil to grow them in. The courtyard is lain with stone, which doesn't promote plant growth. Unless you procure pots for them, you ask for miracles. One pot for every plant you wish grown, mind you, with enough soil to fill it, and brought separately. Some plants will need their pot modified to drain the water, this to prevent root rot. Some will need taller or wider pots, which depends on their root system and how they grow. Which brings me to:_

_3\. I don't know what potions you'll desire and in what frequency. As such I cannot suggest which plants are worth the investment in money and time. And growing all possible alchemical ingredients on the off-chance you'll need it is a good way to turn your manor into a farm._

_And that leads me to another issue: the system of feeding seven people. You wish to bankrupt yourself in this model. There's no kitchen, so all food must be cooked offsite. Nothing is grown here to mitigate costs (see above points why I can't). However, there are solutions to this which can be applied with or without consideration of issues described above._

_There are cooking pots in the basement and a fireplace in my room. If ingredients are provided (or grown), I can cook in my room. If provided with a baking tray, an oven is unnecessary. Cooking ingredients are cheaper to buy than premade meals, after all._

_This leaves the issue of your wax candle lighting. While efficient, this isn't cost effective in the long term. If desirable, provide me with one goblet-sized brazier, two portions of fire salts, one vial of powdered mammoth tusk, and one portion of moon sugar. This of course for each wax candle you wish permanently replaced. The alchemical reaction would burn slowly for at least a century, needing only magicka once a week to keep going, which I will provide. Please weigh this considerable startup cost against beeswax for the same period of time._

_-Reyda._

With my bit handled, I sprinkle some salt over the parchment and shimmy it around to help the ink dry faster. Once I'm satisfied, I toss the salt back into the dish for it, roll up the parchment, and offer my observations and demands to Scarlet.

Now what am I going to do to keep myself entertained?

**_8-8_**

* * *

Tossing back the flap and loosening the toggles, I open my knapsack. My chest is tight, wondering what all Cylben put in here for me.

The first thing that catches my eye is the necklace. I take it out, running my finger over the ruby set in silver. Curiously, the gold plated backing has an inscription, in the same script Cylben called 'daedric', though I have no idea what that means.

What an odd combination, though. Gold-spun wire, gold backing with daedric inscription, and a silver frame set with a ruby. It must have taken a master blacksmith to craft this. I'm surrounded by thieves. Best to keep this on me at all times.

I slip it over my head, and stuff the pendant into my dress to keep it out of sight.

The rest is all books. A game at dinner, De Rerun Dirennis, Herbalist's guide to Skyrim, Mannimarci King of worms, and song of alchemists. All alchemy books—I set those into one pile, for organization sake.

2920 sun's dawn, 36 lessons of Vivec sermons 4 and 36, Charwich-Koniinge volume 3, and the firsthand revolt. These are the Mysticism books he had me studying, best to go over them again to ensure there's nothing I overlooked. I stack them as well, warmth in my chest at how freely Cylben shares his knowledge and his heritage with me—I don't doubt these are all salvaged from Morrowind.

The rest are spellbooks. Bound bow, bound dagger, conjure familiar, conjure flame atronach, flaming familiar, soul trap, mark, recall, and telekinesis.

If I ever get Cylben in my arms again, I'm going to ride him until the sun dies out.

There are two more books, all the way at the bottom. Olaf and the dragon—that man no longer needs an amulet of Mara, I'll marry him in a heartbeat. The other is…

Its title is written in that daedric script. Hmm. I open it, finding the first page written in Cylben's rough and slipshod lettering. _Study this, cover to cover. It will teach you to read Daedric, and contains mnemonic tricks to learning Dunmeris._

"Sofie. Have you learned to read?"

**_8-8_**

* * *

"Let's play a game," I say, mischief no doubt dancing in my eyes. Sofie looks almost ready to jump out of her skin, no doubt bored to tears from how we're stuck in our room. "We're going to play tag. But not the way you know it. In order to tag someone, you must cast the Soul Trap spell on them."

"Alright! I'm it!" Her hand glows with the spell as she readies it. I laugh, running away from her and dashing over our bed as the first glob of spellmatter flies at me. Warmth accompanied by twitching muscles hits me in the shoulder, tagging me.

"I'm it!" I focus the spell letting her run around a bit before pelting it in front of her, knowing I'll miss.

"Missed me!" She turns, running the other way, her eyes smiling bright as the sun as I aim and miss her again. I figure missing her twice is fair, and it helps us both grow stronger.

**_8-8_**

* * *

I sit by the fire, curled up with another book in my lap. Sofie confiscated the other chair, reading Olaf and the dragon. It's been pretty uneventful, this past week. We haven't been allowed out of the house, not even out into the courtyard, and frankly, Scarlet is about as chatty as a wolf. So until Frey sends word, or the materials I need, I'll enjoy my time studying and teaching Sofie what I can.

Hmm. _Summoning spells can be modified, summoning any being or item one has made a pact with. While this is more commonly done with daedra—whether dremora or otherwise—it's possible to forge a pact with any non-mer._

I love this book. Sure, it takes me an hour to translate what is written, and then it takes me another hour or two to decode what they mean, but it's useful all the same. And it's no wonder Cylben wants me to learn Conjuration and Mysticism first, these schools are nothing if not useful.

I especially enjoy how these aren't just random books. There are little notes written in Dunmeris, all in the same neat script. Part of me suspects that's either his father's writing, or at least one of his ancestors'. And he wants me to hold on to these books for him.

Hmm, I wonder. What does that thing say in that funny place Cylben had me meditate to?

**_8-8_**

* * *

Cess. Oht. Neht. Jeb. Uhh…Yoodt?

I open my eyes, removing the sight from me and opening the book again. The crackling fire floods my senses, along with the warmth of the fire. Yes, that one's Yoodt. I close the book, closing my eyes, and easing myself back into meditation. It takes almost a minute to calm my emotions enough.

Cess. Oht. Neht. Jeb. Yoodt. Roht. Ayem. Tayem. Iya. Oht. Neht. Conjuration? And why is a number beside it? There are quite a few numbers, actually. One far to the north. A few scattered with the stars. Each constellation with script below it carries either one of two digits.

My unease shifts the realm out of focus.

Deep breaths. Calm. Be at peace.

After a few deep breaths, the vision come back into focus. Peering this way and that, I study the constellations with numbers beneath them. The one with the highest looks like a weighing scale, almost. What is that about?

Ayeh. Lyr. Cess. Hekhem. Ekem. Meht. Alchemy? Well, that makes sense. So what are these stars within it? And I really need some blank books to start transcribing these things to really figure them out.

Then again, Frey will want to read it. And the last thing I want is for him to figure this out.

**_8-8_**

* * *

"Where is she?" Frey's voice carries a little too well. Sofie's shoulders tense. Can't blame her for disliking the man, given his utter disregard for our lives. Still, I'm unsurprised he's here in person. The creaking of stairs tells me he approaches, and not a moment later do the double doors swing open.

He finds me sitting by the fire, with Sofie seated on the floor, her shoulders between my thighs as I braid her hair. I don't acknowledge him—no reason to. He'll speak when he's good and ready.

"We're not installing any windows." He seems sure of himself. There must be some reason why windows are taboo, but I don't care enough to figure it out.

"And obtaining those rare herbs is pointless." Frey loves hearing himself talk. Well, as long as he doesn't ask something, I'll let him have his way.

Reaching the end of the braid, I wrap it around my finger pressed against the back of her head and roll it into a bun, tying it off with a leather strip. To keep her as calm and at ease as the situation will allow, I pet her and smooth her hair.

"I've brought the ingredients you need. You have one week to craft the potions. The more pleased I am, the more material you'll be granted for this garden of yours." With that, he's gone.

In other words, he'll let me into the courtyard. Not because he wants to, but because he can find no other way. Interesting. If he has everything I need, I should have those potions done by morning, if I don't mind skipping some sleep.

So, Frey. You want me to work happy and hard, so let's see how much I'll get out of having this done efficiently.

**_8-8_**

* * *

"It's done," I say over my shoulder as I clean my instruments. Whether Scarlet sends word or fell asleep standing up is on her. Right now, all I care about is the fact that I've completed the job in half a day.

Setting the pestle back into its mortar, Sofie's snores draw my attention to the sleeping munchkin beside me. Someone refused to sleep without me beside her, and I refused to go to bed before completing the job. So, of course, I had only snores for company.

I scoop Sofie up to the sound of unintelligible grumbles, and bring her to bed. It's hard to believe another week has passed. What's less unbelievable is Frey's habit of rewarding me and giving me a new list in the same breath. Though I can't seem to make sense of his thing for having ingredients delivered in the middle of the night.

Laying her in bed and tucking her in, all that's left to do is the thing. Dunno why I always have to do the thing. Dunno if doing the thing will even help. But I can't not do the thing.

So I head downstairs, followed by my usual redhead shadow. I don't know how she keeps up with me, but I've long decided I don't care. Into the back room and stopping in front of the door, I focus my magicka. My vision goes fuzzy, but I clearly see the red of the bandits around me. Looking over my shoulder, Scarlet glows as her namesake, though there's a curious tinge of purple about her chest.

The bar raises, the door opens, and suddenly I find myself out in the overcast morning. The sun is just barely peeking up over the horizon, signaling the start of something stupid.

Large clay pots line the wall, likely needing at least two to carry. And there are dozens upon dozens of bags of earth. I must look mad, out here in my finest about to garden. Still, this madness has purpose.

I walk over to the pots, grabbing one. It's too heavy to move alone, yet I make a showing of lifting it.

An annoyed groan kisses my ears as idle hands grab the other side of the bowl-shaped pot. Scarlet and I move it over a few strides, before turning it over and setting it down. I conjure a dagger, studying the girl from the corner of my eye as I start gouging a hole in the center of the pot. She's a tough nut to crack, no doubt about it.

I cast Detect Life once again, finding two blue silhouettes coming our way from the graveyard. What's more interesting is the curiosity in Scarlet's eyes. Loosening focus, I get back to gouging.

"A pair approaches," I murmur. Scarlet nods and moves towards the house. I narrow my eyes, but don't comment. Ethereal dagger stabs into clay, the staccato almost matching the approaching footfalls.

Curiously, the incoming pair wear mud-colored robes with a silver cord tied around their waist, though only the Redguard has a faded gold hood. The Dunmer with him…? This might just work. Dunmeri seek each other out. If Cylben were to come searching for me?

I release my dagger, letting it fade as I right myself. Her eyes are on me, her curiosity growing as I bow to her.

"Three blessings upon you, sera," I say, rolling the R ever so slightly. With my message already sent, I conjure my dagger again, and get back to the pot.

Once the hole is wide enough, I focus on rounding it out, mostly for aesthetics. When their footsteps don't start up, I look back at them, finding him looking confused and her looking annoyed.

"Ah. An Ashlander. Without the markings I…Pardon my assumption, sera." I blink and narrow my eyes at her outfit. "Those are robes of Mara. How'd that happen?"

She looks away, flaring her nostrils.

"Blessings of Mara upon you, my daughter. Please forgive Dinya, she…isn't usually like this." The man seems at a loss, unable to make sense of the scene he finds himself in. "I am Maramal, Priest of the temple of Mara. This is my wife, Dinya Balu."

"Of the Balu Reavers?" I make a face, impressed. "Well met. I'm Reyda. And I really should get back to my gardening."

"You…You're okay with me being…?" She doesn't look at me, seeming unsure of herself, perhaps even afraid of my reaction.

"Might I suggest you carry yourself with the grace your station demands of you, Priestess of Mara."

Her chin snaps towards me, hanging low. All I offer, is a shrug, and get right back to making this pot workable.

**_8-8_**

**_End Chapter 2_**

**_8-8_**

* * *

**_A/N:_**


	3. How shall we proceed?

**_From Talos, with Love_**

**_"With great power comes great responsibility. A shame they never mentioned a nocked arrow or a dagger dipped in poison, because I'm not taking responsibility for any of that."_**

**_Chapter 3—How shall we proceed?_**

**_8-8_**

* * *

_16th of Sun's Dawn, 4E 200._

_This would have been our first Heart's Day together. Knowing him, we'd have spent the day in his shack, in and out of our lovemaking sessions. But what I miss most of him is our talks. The tales of his adventures in the Ashlands. His time on Solstheim, in Raven Rock. His running commentary of House Redoran and their almost Altmeri levels of egocentrism. _

_I miss hearing him speak of Ralen, and how they'd get along like a house on fire. How they'd tease and prank their granma to no end, only for Ralen to play 'the elder brother' and turn my love in at the first sign of trouble. _

_I miss him speaking of him and Ralen doting on Llorayna and Sovali. How they'd stalked poor Sovali during her first date, how the boy was too afraid to come calling again. And how Llorayna spent the rest of that week getting them in trouble for it._

Quill dips into ink, tears left to fall as they please.

_Regardless, I will not lie down and die. Not here, not now. I will be reunited with him, and he will never be given reason to suspect, let alone believe, his faith in me was misplaced. _

_This gilded cage will not break me._

I spill salt onto the parchment, shifting it around to dry the ink quickly. Once I'm satisfied, I close the book and stow it between the Alchemy theory tomes.

Alright, Reyda. Step one: gaining allies.

**_8-8_**

* * *

"No." I shake my head and my hands, refusing to even go there. "If you continue going outside with me like that, it'll look like this is a thieves' hideout. And there's no way I'm agreeing to that." I grab Scarlet's hand, dragging her back into my room and closing the door behind us.

I open the closet door, go through my outfits, and select a rich brown set. "Your orders are to remain at my side. And as you are, you stick out like an orc bard. So get changed, and we won't draw unneeded attention to ourselves."

She grumbles, but doesn't disagree, stripping down and changing while I fold up her thief's outfit and lay it on the foot of my bed.

With one little victory in my pocket, I head outside with Scarlet hot on my heels. The others take notice of her new look—the not so subtle frowns she gets rub me all the right ways.

Out in the courtyard, Sofie starts running around and squealing happily, glad to burn off her pent up energy any way she can. But I'm far more interested in the visibly uncomfortable redhead staying near the door. Poor, poor Scarlet fiddles with her gloves, likely nervous about the others' reaction.

So let's see how this plays out, Frey. You station five pawns, and given your admittance to preferring control of them over skill, it isn't impossible they aren't loyal to you—just that you have power over them. All I need is for them to open up, to loosen their tongues, and I can figure out what that is.

I've the time.

**_8-8_**

* * *

Fourteen pots now neatly lined up a stride from the fences to ensure no one gets…handsy with them. Nothing is planted, of course. No, planting before First Seed is a fool's errand. But what Fastred's granma taught me, is exactly what I intend to do to get a leg up—once I get what I need, that is.

Then again…I have quite a few ingredients left. And I saved the nirnroot seeds. Yup, that's what we're doing.

But let's see. I need to plan. I'll need viable ingredients for health and cure disease potions.

"Come, let's go inside and warm up," I say over my shoulder as I spy her reaction. She's still fidgeting, but she does nod—Solitude wasn't built in a day. Sofie complains, but she doesn't fight me.

I head back upstairs, into the alchemy alcove, and I start writing down ingredients I can grow right here.

Blue mountain flower, yellow mountain flower, purple mountain flower, red mountain flower, nightshade, lavender, dragon tongue, mora tapinella, elves ears, frost mirriam, wheat.

I make sure to sprinkle the salt over it, fold it when I'm satisfied it's dry, and hand it to Scarlet. "If he asks, these are all alchemical ingredients, but they all have other uses. Should he deem it needful, I will explain for each he is curious about."

Scarlet narrows her eyes, but shrugs and likely decides this isn't her problem. The note goes into her pouch. With that, we head into the room to sit by the fire and warm up. Hmm. Maybe I can ask for some apples. They aren't in season, but apple cider is yummy, and I could use the seeds.

**_8-8_**

* * *

It's three days later that another delivery is made. Once again, around midnight. Only this time, it's a satchel-full of the ingredients I requested, along with the already requested ingredients for the potions he needs.

Why Frey makes these deliveries himself is a bit of a mystery. Though more curious is how none of these men ever leave the manor. Still, not my problem.

It's almost sunrise before I'm done with the potions. Per the norm, I tell Scarlet I'm done, and I head out into the courtyard to catch some fresh air. There's just something about not being surrounded by potential murders that sets me at ease.

My future garden seems paltry. Snow covers everything, but that's just fine for the first few. I conjure my dagger, the rush of air and crackle of magicka almost an explosion in the stillness of the early morning, and start shoveling snow out of my way. I'll have to be far more careful with the others, but mountain flowers thrive in the harshest conditions, a little snow won't bother them.

Hmm. There are fourteen pots. I'll need the most for wheat—both for ale and flour. So, I figure one for each color of mountain flower. If properly cared for, they should produce enough flowers to pluck once a week. But then, I'll need more health potions than the rest. Better make it two for blue.

Hmm. Maybe in my next thank-you order, I'll ask for blisterwort? Could be useful to have some regenerate health potions in stock.

Gouging out a proper hole, I set the first blue mountain flower and cover it with dirt and snow. As the sun melts the snow, it'll water my babies, so there's nothing to worry about.

"By order of the Jarl, stop right there!" The shouting sounds like it's coming from a ways off. The morning being quiet as it is, it carries a little too well. Still, it has nothing to do with me. So I gouge another hole into snow and dirt, partly burying another blue flower branch.

"She went into the cemetery!" Onto the next pot, I gouge another hole and partly bury another stem. Movement catches my eye. I turn, mostly out of curiosity.

Bright red eyes, wide with an almost wild madness, like a cornered beast. Ashen face, taut and looking around for any options left to her. It's the thief's outfit that really upsets me though. How brainless does a Dumner have to be to wear such an obvious thief's garb, and then go around at this hour. It won't matter if she's innocent, her existence is crime enough in Skyrim.

"S'wit," I grumble. Her gaze finds mine, and the bright red smeared over her face tells me she's already had a bad run in with the guards. There's an arrow in her left arm as well. They're not interested in filling their dungeon, it seems. They want her dead.

"Get in here. Hurry." She doesn't hesitate, vaulting up and over the yards-high fencing, and into the courtyard. I motion to the pots, and she ducks behind one of them. Only, she leaves a trail of her blood within my domain. That makes this more my problem than anything.

Footsteps grow loud from both directions. The guards approach too swift to properly cover much of anything. Little choice, then.

I loosen my focus on the dagger as I run towards the fence, conjuring it again and stabbing myself through my left palm. I cry out, backing away, leaving far more obvious footsteps as I loosen my focus again so my dagger fades from this plane.

Scarlet comes running, covering the rest of the tracks, and meeting me in the middle of the courtyard. It isn't a moment later that the guards are all falling over themselves at the gate.

"What is it? What's happened?!"

"He came out of nowhere! Had an arrow in his arm, asking for help! When I got close, he stabbed me and made off with my necklace!" I clutch my injured hand. They came from both directions of the alley, so they'll believe the thief 'must have' gone up the wall and out the city.

"Must've gone up the wall!" The wall's too high for them to climb, so they dash down the alley, all in the same direction. They'll spend the rest of the day trying to figure out why this Dunmer leaves no tracks in the snow. Poor bastards.

I head for the door, letting Scarlet do her weird knocking thing so the man inside will know to open it. "Inside. Now." The thief peeks out, finding none of the guards around, and follows us in.

**_8-8_**

* * *

My motions are quick and graceless, but I'm careful not to get my blood into, onto, or near anything. The last thing I need is blood contaminating everything.

"Tell me you at least know a healing spell," I say over my shoulder. But I get no response. Turning to her, her face is pale, almost turning white. The cut is mostly under her eyebrow. That should cover it somewhat, but that's a concern after we make sure she survives. After all, it's the arrow in her arm that worries me.

"What's your name, s'wit."

"Stop calling me that."

"If the shoe fits," I mutter, turning my attention back to making the potions to save her life. Her snort tells me she's not amused. "You know they hate Dunmeri. And you go out thieving. If that isn't slack-witted, nothing is."

Grumbles and half-formed complaints are all I get. Still, it shows she's conscious, that's a start.

"So what's your name." Satisfied with the first regenerate health potion, I stopper it and set it aside to cool.

"Vilvyni." Life wanes in her voice. I might have to risk giving her the potion still hot. "My name…is Vilvyni Drothan. From Blacklight."

"Well, here's what we're going to do, Vilvyni the s'wit." I poke her between the eyebrows to annoy her further. She narrows her eyes and flares her nostrils. "We're going to give the potions a minute to cool. When that happens, you're going to drink two of them to keep you on this plane. Then we're going to do something about that arrow."

A sigh and a sullen head-bob are all I get.

"Do you want me to explain what I'm going to do? You may well be happier not knowing."

"Just do it." Hmm. Either she trusts me, or she understands it'll have to happen anyway. Let's assume the latter, and see if we can't shift it towards the former in time.

I grab the first vial, testing its temperature. "It's still a bit on the warm side. But I'd rather you drink it when it's less effective than to wait and take risks." A mute pop, the unstopped vial's neck presses against her lips.

Little gulps, mute as they are moody, are punctuated by a drawn out, disgusted groan and her forced shut eyes. The second vial soon follows, unstopped and pressed to her lips. That should deal with keeping her from bleeding out.

A defeated sigh escapes her, tinged with a groan—either disgust from the taste or self-loathing. Maybe both. Probably both.

She shivers and smacks her lips like she tastes something bitter. Hmm. I know I kept my blood out of the potions. Risk of infection, perhaps. But the regenerate health should mitigate that, if only somewhat. I don't have the ingredients for cure disease, so she'll have to make do.

"Right. I'm going to make two more potions. And these'll need to work at full strength."

"I thought…you said…"

"I'd rather be paranoid, if you don't mind." I press my uninjured palm against her forehead, feeling her warmth. Not hot, not feverish, but warm enough to confirm life. "I'm not going to pour anything down an unconscious patient's throat. So you need to stay awake. Tell me about life in Blacklight."

"I…don't remember…don't 'member much. Mama use…mama used to tell tales of it, 'fore the Red Year."

So her mother was over two hundred years old. Vilvyni's of the younger batch. That means she'll have at least one more sibling she's aware of. And they'd have been raised and trained to kill her parents' worst enemies. Interesting, and definitely something I can use, if need be.

I get back to my potionmaking. She'll need another health regen, and a health potion for when I remove the arrow.

"Your siblings. What of their fate?"

"Dovyn…he's a few years…years older. He's an…an ass." And therefore very much alive. Noted. "We were…were doin' the…the job toge…together. Guards were…were on us…almost from the…the start."

"He told you to run while he distracted them," I muse, a smile in my tone. Cylben would have done the same, and cursed his sisters for getting injured to boot.

"Yeah." They love each other. I can tell just from the smile in her tone. But it just isn't in siblings to not be snippy to each other from time to time—no one you spend that much time with is free from it.

She continues tripping over her words and haltingly telling me of their tales. I listen with half an ear as I make the potions and set them aside to cool. But I block her out almost entirely as I focus on making two last health potions for me.

I missed the veins and arteries, more by luck than anything, but I'm going to have a nasty scar for this.

Lucky for me, I only need two small vials, so they cool within minutes. I take the first and drink it, unwrapping my injured hand as a shiver of disgust runs through me—those things taste vile. Vile in a vial. Must be some Aedric joke. Or maybe Daedric. I can imagine Sheogorath being over the moons with the whimsy of that little wordplay.

"Mama tol' us…tol' us to run…and she brought…brought the ruins down…down atop o' them." Hmm. I must have missed something important. Shit. Will have to ask about that later. Note to self: mother's dead. That means the father died long ago. No Dunmer would allow his love be harmed while he yet breaths.

"I'm sorry to hear that." I pour the second vial onto my wounds, half the vial for each side. The burning pain almost knocks me out. The stars in my vision aren't helping much either.

With a deep breath, I ball my uninjured hand into a tight fist to hopefully regain some control—I figure just getting this over with is the better option.

The health potion flask unstops with an audible pop. The regen health soon follows. I conjure my dagger and carefully cut off the arrowhead, before pouring the regen health onto and around the area of wound nearest it. The rest is poured into Vilvyni, the sounds of her disgusted groan telling me she is just as unimpressed with this one.

One swift pull, and the arrow dislodges. Her blood squirts all over her leathers, my dress and jacket, and into my mouth. Great. Now we have blood magicks to contend with. She better not be a were or vampire.

I grab the regen health flask and pour it directly into the wound, tying the area with my bloodied rag. The rest of the flask pours down her throat all the same.

Too tired to deal with the implications just now. So fuck it.

"Make sure Frey knows all details," I say, my nose pointing to Scarlet though my eyes are out of focus for some reason. "There are implications he'll need to know of. Ask him to come tonight. I'll discuss everything I know enough of, but I don't know the politics of Riften. That's why he needs to be here himself."

I grab the health potion flask, spilling the last of its contents onto Vilvyni's brow, wrap an arm around her and we stumble off to bed together. This day just needs to end.

**_8-8_**

* * *

"Reyda." I jerk awake, already looking around to assess how fucked I am. I'm in my bed, in my room, with Sofie snoring beside me. There's a weight I'm not accustomed to, right atop me. Looking down, I find the sleeping form of Vilvyni, her face at perfect peace as she slumbers on my chest.

"Frey's here. He's talking to the boys downstairs," Scarlet informs me. I look at her, wondering at the respect lining her eyes. I nod, but don't much feel like moving. Frey isn't that important.

Footsteps dash up the stairs. That isn't Frey. That would be…uh…Dovyn? Vilvyni's overprotective brother. Well. Just her brother. I'm pretty sure all Dunmeri brothers are one strain of overprotective or another.

The doors slam open, and an irate Dunmer stands in the doorway, his eyes fearful and face taut.

I place my middle and index fingers against her neck, feeling her pulse steady and strong. "She's fine. Just resting."

Slow, steady footsteps come up the creaking stairs. Dovyn looks nervous, no doubt remembering some instruction or other. Oh, no. I need your loyalty, so what say we undermine whatever rules I can rightly say I didn't hear that apply to you, specifically.

"Come see for yourself," I say, patting the bed beside me. His eyes dart back and forth, weighing risk and reward. His upbringing and love for his sister will easily tip the scales to my side.

I run my finger through Vilvyni's hair, grateful she didn't do the usual bandit shaving thing—I never quite understood why they'd shave the sides of their heads to mark themselves as bandits. Maybe it's to confuse people? To make them notice nothing but the standard signs and make it impossible to differentiate between them?

Whatever.

"Mmmm." Vilvyni moans, no doubt wanting nothing more than to get her much needed rest. That's all Dovyn needs, he sits beside me in a half a heartbeat, already checking his sister's state. His eyes take in the bloodied rag tied to her upper arm, the dried blood on my hand on her face.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Dovyn says, trying to mask the tremble in his voice. He knows she was badly injured.

"What'd I say 'bout wakin' me in the middle of the night?" Oh, yeah. These two are thick as thieves.

"How much you enjoy it. Obviously."

My chest shakes, failing at keeping the laughter in. Vilvyni shifts, peering up at me, unable to mask her confusion as she tries piecing all this together. When she recognizes me, her eyes go wide and her whole body tenses, no doubt preparing for the worst.

"Be at peace," I murmur, running my fingers through her hair, and cursing at the knots I find there. She nods, but narrows her eyes all the same. "We'll discuss this later. I believe Frey needs a word with me."

As if on cue, Frey walks in to the room, his face blank but anger in his eyes.

"I assume you've been informed of the situation," I begin, not waiting for him to mouth of. "Let me highlight what little I know, and how this may affect the situation. The guards will be looking for a necklace of mine, and they seek these two without fail. What's more, they were confused at finding me there. Luckily, Scarlet wore fine robes. They won't associate this place with thieves, not from anything that transpired today. However, there's a chance they'll come back, asking questions. I have a plan, but I don't know Riften politics to predict how the guards will react. So, how do you want to handle this?"

Frey narrows his eyes, tilting his head slightly. "Tell me your plan."

"If they come asking questions, I pose as a Dunmerii noblewoman." Vilvyni tenses, but doesn't speak. "I know more about their politics and traditions. I can pass for a lowborn of their House without fail. If you are asked, you claim I am the wife-to-be of a business associate and have housed me here during bridal training, per his request."

Frey frowns.

"This works to your advantage. Because you'd be forbidden to speak his name, as would I. Dunmeri tradition. I would need a handmaiden, preferably Khajit or Argonian. And two chap'thil, which these two could fulfill, if they never speak. In fact, only those intimately aware of Dunmeri customs would even guess which House we're from. So never saying of which House is quite customary. If you don't know, it's none of your business."

The frown eases, but Frey isn't sold as yet. "I'm not getting you any slaves."

"Not asking you to. If Scarlet and these two would be assigned to me, no one would question a thing. They'd assume my muthsera bought Scarlet for me in Morrowind and assigned his own chap'thiil to guard me in addition to my own. And this way, you have three of your people around me at all times, even if you need me to leave the manor for any reason. And no, I'm not asking to leave. I'd rather not have to deal with people."

Frey crosses his arms, the look in his eyes tells me his gears are churning. "Has anyone else seen you?"

"Maramal and Dinya Balu. The priests from the Temple of Mara. They are already aware I'm connected to the Dunmer, and that I know enough to sniff out her heritage with barely any words exchanged."

"These two have a bounty on their heads."

"Do they?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow. "And how many mer are hold guards? How many of them would know to tell one Dunmer from another?"

His eyes widen considerably.

"All I need to do, is dress them as nobility, do up their hair as my House would demand of their station, and ensure they only carry blades in keeping with our norms. As long as they do not speak in public, which their station would forbid with my muthsera away, no one will dare question it."

"Then you know nothing of Riften."

"I already admitted that. But let me rephrase. My station and expectations placed upon me, means I am honor bound to make them regret it."

His eyes dart back and forth. "I'm not getting you elven blades."

"If I teach them Bound Dagger, it will translate to the same thing. It does mean they'll be forbidden to have another blade on them, but they won't need it. And I assume you both know at least one Destruction Spell?"

Dovyn smirks, his eyes filled with a dark joy that tells me they both know it, and look forward to using it.

"Good. Then they will do just fine. All I will need is a few outfits for Dovyn. Luckily, the jackets I have here should work well enough, and the boots will match our collective look. So I'll only need some pants for him. Or a sewing kit so I can make them myself."

Vilvyni shakes with laughter, even as she relaxes completely into my warmth.

"We'll see." Frey walks off, but not before I see a lining of wonder in his eyes. Has he noticed the slivers of respect I steal under his nose? Does he see the already waning loyalty of his people? Or is it as simple as him knowing he never really had it to begin with?

**_8-8_**

* * *

"What are the responsibilities of chap'thiil?" I ask, stabbing the needle into the fabric and jerking it out the other side.

Vilvyni and Dovyn share a look, shrugging to show they aren't sure.

"Do you know of the winolalvios?"

"The promise-anticipation?" Vilvyni asks, suspicion in her eyes and tone. I nod. "Isn't that when a bride-to-be is essentially kidnapped and her husband-to-be has to find her?"

"Well. Traditionally it's that she's sent away both for bridal training and to test her and her beloved's resolve to be together. Though I'm sure it comes over as you described." No point in stringing pearls to swine. "The point is, during this time I would be in charge of training my and my muthsera's chap'thil. And in turn, it would be your duty to ensure three things which would be reported to my muthsera the second he arrives."

They share a look, confused.

"First. No man is permitted to touch me. Ever. In fact, only the closest of female relatives and female friends are allowed to touch me during this time. And even then, only in exceptional circumstances. The only one allowed to touch me regularly, is my chap'thiil."

Vilvyni grins.

"Second. I should only ever speak to a man should there be no other option. The sole exception is my muthsera's chap'thiil, but then only in private, and only with my chap'thiil present."

Dovyn nods, obviously agreeing with the precaution.

"And third. That I accommodate my keeper as though he were my muthsera, as long as it doesn't break the first two rules."

"What if someone touches you?" Dovyn asks, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"What do you think?" He grins, liking the sound of that. "Now, as for your behavior in public. Chap'thil of my House are known as maliatdahrdragi. Soft-speakers. Because you are in fact nightblades, trained to execute our will and guard us from both the shadows and in plain sight. So, you only ever whisper in public."

"I'm lovin' this." Vilvyni's grin couldn't possibly be wider or cheesier.

"I don't have the Illusion school theory or spellbooks you'll need. We'll have to figure that out as we go. But I have Conjuration and Mysticism spellbooks, and some Mysticism theory." The ache in my chest almost becomes too much. This aligns a little too well, so my heart all but begs me to believe Cylben set this up himself. Logic, of course, tells me this is the furthest from reality it can be, but heart's view brings me comfort.

"So here's how we'll do this. You two are forbidden to bear any non-mer weapon. So, you need to work on Bound Dagger and Bound Bow." I hand one to Dovyn, and the other to Vilvyni—it doesn't matter who gets which, they need to learn both. "I won't give you another spell until you can conjure them without thinking about it."

"What about me?" Scarlet asks, no doubt feeling left out.

Good.

"That depends on you. If you agree to be a part of all this, I'll teach you what I can. But know that loyalty is earned, not bartered for."

Scarlet's eyes simmer with yearning, like she's found something she's long sought after. The look is gone as quickly as it appears, but it doesn't matter. I saw it, and I'll be careful to stoke that flame.

"Of course. Tell me what to do."

"I'm going to need nirnroot for the garden. You should find it easily enough along the lakeside. But no stealing. At all. Either you buy or you find, and by that I mean that even if a guard sees you take it, nothing will happen."

Scarlet jumps to her feet, walking out of the room without so much as glancing back.

"And me! And me! What about me?" Sofie demands, pouting and all. It's a shame her eyes glow with every positive emotion within her. She knows I'd never leave her out.

"Hmm? What about you?" I tease, getting a disappointed groan from her. "Are you saying you want to train like we train?"

"Of course!"

I laugh, quite enjoying her enthusiasm. "Well, alright. But only if you give this your all."

"Yay!" Sofie announces, running around like her tail's on fire.

"Not so fat, little missy. This isn't going to be all fun and games. It'll take a lot of studying and even more practice. On top of that, you'll need to learn Alchemy, and you'll need to help me in the garden."

"Aww. Do I have to?"

"If you want to play with the big kids, you play by big kid rules."

"You'll teach me to fight?"

"Archery and daggers, yes."

"What about spells? I mean, you already taught me Soul Trap."

"You taught her…?" Dovyn and Vilvyni share a look, unsure what to make of that.

"Well. It makes for an interesting game of tag." I don't fight the smug satisfaction welling up in me from having figured out how to train her while making it as fun as possible, and the smirk lets them know as much.

**_8-8_**

* * *

The sun's just about setting when Scarlet returns. She finds us in the newly dubbed nursery, beside our bedroom, sorting through all the plants we need to grow indoors before planting them come spring.

"Got your nirnroot." Even as she speaks, her eyes scan the room, trying to figure out what we're up to.

The cobwebs have all been banished, as they deserve. The old crates are now stacked along one wall, giving us more than enough room to work and are covered with old bowls and goblets filled with dirt. More importantly, the rest of the rather expansive room is completely empty, giving us room to train.

"Perfect." I beam for her, giving her a moment to let it sink in that I appreciate what she did, before accepting it from her and setting it in my satchel to plant later. Scarlet blushes, but a little smile peaks out all the same. She was an orphan, huh. "After dinner, we'll work you in for Bound Dagger."

"Thanks." She eyes my hand, furrowing her brow at the gloves I'm wearing.

"It isn't healed as yet, but it no longer pains me."

She looks away, biting her lip as if she isn't sure how to respond to that.

I walk right up to her, well within her personal bubble, and I palm her cheek with my injured hand. She cups my hand, though she's careful not to hurt me. Tears well up in the corners of her eyes—there's something about me that strikes a chord within her.

Perhaps my willingness to bleed for people I barely know? Or is it how I offer to teach her things? I'm not sure; more observation will be needed to figure her out.

I smile for her, both with lips and eyes. She tries to smile as well, though hers is more drawn. Tears well up in her eyes. Why is she so emotional about this?

Curious, I hug her.

She's slow to hug me back, but when she does, she takes two fistfuls of my jacket. Her shoulders shiver, but that quickly turns to trembling. She doesn't make a sound, even when her tears cascade down my cheek and neck.

She stiffens and pulls back, shaking her head and is clearly about to say something stupid and walk off.

I pull her back into my warmth before she gets the chance, murmuring into her ear, "It's alright. Just let it out."

The next thing I know, I'm sitting on the ground with Scarlet in my arms and her face buried in my chest, her sobs echoing off every surface. When I find out who cut her this deeply, they're dead.

**_8-8_**

* * *

"I'm fine." Scarlet's claim is repeated for the thousandth time since her breakdown. I didn't believe her the first time, and I certainly haven't changed my mind. Instead of worrying about that, I dig out the spellbook for Bound dagger, offering it to her with a warm smile.

"Dovyn, Vilvyni." The siblings nod, knowing it's time for them to get down to training as well. They take a seat by the fire, conjuring daggers to practice the spell and slashing the air to get a feel for it. "You can change your grip on them. But be quick and don't lose focus for a moment."

Dovyn shifts his dagger around, only for it to fade from this plane.

"Here. Watch." I conjure my dagger. As it solidifies in my hand, I shift it around, keeping constant physical contact with it. "At first you need to touch it for it to maintain form. After a while?" I flip the dagger into the air, catching it by the tip and flicking it into the fire. The clatter announces it hit the back of the fireplace, but no sound follows, showing it never hit the ground.

The siblings share a look, amused and intrigued. They'll probably spend the rest of the evening throwing those poor daggers into the flames.

Sofie lays on her belly, idly kicking her feet back and forth as she reads Herbalist's Guide to Skyrim, to start her out. I don't doubt she'll have questions—if not, I'll start quizzing her whenever we're gardening.

That takes care of them. So, let's get down to my studying. I fish out the spellbook for Telekinesis, lie on the bed and get to reading.

I really need to learn Bound Bow—I still haven't gotten around to it. Well, either way, focusing on this can't hurt.

**_8-8_**

* * *

"Where is she?! Get her! Get her down here, now!"

I look to Dovyn. He nods, rushing out the room to see what's going on, almost flying down the stairs. "Serjo!"

Then this really does need my attention. I grab three health potions, a cure disease, and a regenerate health from the alcove, carefully stuff them into my satchel, and head down. In the meeting room, by the back door, a man lies on the table. His left arm is almost severed mid-bicep, and his legs look pincushiony, filled with arrows. His face is a rictus of pain, covered in blood. And yet, he doesn't make a sound.

"Scarlet, get me my other potions. Sofie, get me a bottle of ale from the cellar." They scamper off, leaving me with…this.

I unstop the first two bottles, a regen and a health, and pour each in turn into his mouth. He doesn't question or hesitate, drinking them both. Well. He's losing more blood from his arm, so best to start there.

Scarlet comes with the potions, setting them on the table for me. This is just going to be a nightmare…and a regular thing.

It's almost an hour and sixteen potions later that I declare I've done all I can. The man, a Nord in his late teens, is wrapped up like he's about to be interred, each rag bloodier than the last.

His pale complexion tells me just how much blood he's lost, and frankly I doubt he'll ever use that arm again. Still, he'll live to tell the tale. He'd better. Because I'm going to be bitching for weeks about him wiping out my entire potion stash!

With my bit done, I take the ale, unstop it, and drink straight from the bottle. The men that brought him here stand about, awed and slack-jawed. If only I had the patience for them.

"Dovyn, light the hearth down here. Scarlet, set a chair near it. Sofie, you need to keep an eye on him. Get the mannequins to help him to the chair, and be sure to order them around while I'm washing up."

"Send someone for soup?" She seems quite proud to be given such an important task. Honestly, she's taking all this far too well. I'll need to ask about that.

"That's a good idea. But don't offer it to him before he asks. And no ale until he's eaten. Our patient needs to stay warm. So order them to get him a few pelts while they're at it."

"Aye, Serjo. You just leave everything to me." Sofie walks up to the biggest brute of the bunch, and punches his thigh, already ordering him to do something. I snort, amused with my little tyke.

"Serjo," Vilvyni calls from the doorway. Her eyes smile, heedless of the late hour. "Come. You need to wash up."

**_8-8_**

* * *

I find myself in the courtyard, tending to my garden. I didn't get a wink of sleep, of course. It's hard to unsee a man's insides.

"I'd take a healthy step back, if I were you," Scarlet warns one of our guests. I'm not sure why the men spent the night, nor am I sure I understand why they insist on lending a hand out here—they're all in civilian wear, so I don't have to worry about much of anything.

Naturally, I have my people out here with me, glaring at everything that moves. Especially Dovyn—I swear, if anyone even appears threatening, he'll be the one to cut them down.

Curiously, Dovyn's taken to only glaring or conjuring a dagger to warn them. He seems to be taking his new role seriously.

"Maran priests," Vilvyni murmurs, her hot breath kissing my ear to show how close she is. I look to the gate, finding Maramal and Dinya Balu, the pair looking most curious at the collection of people in the courtyard.

"Alright, boys!" Sofie's voice rings out in the courtyard, grabbing everyone's attention. "Breakfast! Haul your sorry behinds inside, or you go without!"

There's some grumbling.

"Hey! Don't make me get Serjo involved!" I laugh, loving how she's handling the rabble. They don't fight her this time, heading inside even as they grumble and complain about it.

With that handled, I turn my full attention to the priests. "Three blessings upon you, Priests of Mara."

"Blessing of Mara upon you, my daughter," they say in concert. Only she continues. "What…was that about?"

I sigh, shaking my head. "They brought a friend of theirs in last night. Bear attack, from the look of it. They must think they owe me for saving his life."

"You're a healer?" Dinyu asks, her eyes wide.

"Alchemist, actually," I correct.

"Serjo! Come on, breakfast'll get cold!"

"Serjo?" Dinyu asks, narrowing her eyes this time. "You don't act like a noble."

"I don't act like much of a Nord, either," I tease, smirking and bowing. I head in without another word.

**_8-8_**

**_End Chapter 3_**

**_8-8_**

* * *

**_A/N: Sigh. Alright. I seriously need to talk to my muse. Like, seriously._**


	4. What lies ahead?

**_From Talos, with Love_**

**_"With great power comes great responsibility. A shame they never mentioned a nocked arrow or a dagger dipped in poison, because I'm not taking responsibility for any of that."_**

**_Chapter 4—What lies ahead?_**

**_8-8_**

* * *

_1st of First Seed, 4E 200._

_It snowed last night. It started around two fifteen, just as they brought the fifth patient in for me to patch up. They've been dropping by at the strangest hours of the day, bringing presents ranging from alchemical ingredients to gems to jewelry to spellbooks and theory—either thanks, or a bribe to not turn them away the next time they come calling in the middle of the night. One of them even brought full sets of Elven armors, with a collection of blades and bows and arrows to match. The Thalmor robes were more than hint enough what happened._

_We've almost run out of storage for the gifts we've been supplied with. When Scarlet mentioned this to one of the men, the next day there were knapsacks and satchels presented to us by the dozen. A group of them even brought in a set of chests—one even had a key!_

_Curious. They've stopped attempting to speak directly to me. And they've learned to never stray too close. I suspect Dovyn's had words with them, but I didn't hear a peep of it._

_More curious still, is after my patient sleeps by the hearth, the same group that brought him in, helps him back out. I don't know where they bring them. And I doubly don't know why it's only men being brought in. _

_Maramal and Dinyu Balu have come by every morning for a chat. Little things, mostly. They respect that I only speak to her, but the questions in her eyes only grow brighter with each exchange. _

_So much going on. It's no wonder I tire so easily these days. _

"Serjo?" I sigh, spilling salt onto parchment and shifting it round. "Frey's here." At ten in the morning? That's unlike him.

I shunt the salt back into the dish, closing my book and setting it back in the drawer. Better go find out what is so important that he needs to be here in person.

Once downstairs, I find the most…confusing scene awaiting me. Frey stands by the hearth, in his finest robe with a bear of a man beside him, also in fine robes, though of obvious lesser quality than Frey's.

If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was going to pay the Jarl a visit. That he's here must therefore mean I've been summoned and he's here to explain things and set down rules.

"Jarl Leila Law-Giver summons you." Frey's confirmation doesn't set me at ease. "For a meal and likely an explanation. She isn't the one pulling the strings. Maven Black-Briar is. She wants to know more about you, and none of the Guild has answers. There will be questions of where you're from and what you're doing here."

"Simple enough. I await my husband-to-be, and per the tradition of my House, I may speak of none of it. Not even his name or the name of my House. If there are any Mer present, they should know enough of Dunmeri tradition to sniff this out swiftly."

"There is Anuriel, the steward. Bosmer. Dunno if she's from their homeland. And Wylandriah, the court wizard. Same."

"Alright. Is there anyone you need more information on? Or perhaps an angle you need me to work?"

"Yes. Anuriel. I suspect she's Maven's contact in the Keep. I'll need something on her. Something that connects her to Maven, or anything that casts suspicion on her."

"Understood."

"Wylandriah is already in my pocket. Keep suspicion off her. If this meeting goes well, I'll arrange a present fitting how pleased I am."

"Would you desire more information on this Maven? Or perhaps the Jarl herself?"

"It can't hurt. Dress in your finest. And ensure your three are ready for their roles." Sofie isn't welcome, in other words.

"When are we scheduled to leave?"

"You have two hours."

**_8-8_**

* * *

We walk through the city, along a high-set wooden walkway that hugs the lakeside. Curious, that half the city is built on the lake, but not something I'm meant to understand.

"The city is split into two," Vilvyni murmurs, offering me her elbow to escort me properly. I loop my right forearm around her elbow, showing any who see that she stands in for my muthsera—something all Dunmeri in the city will notice, if they see me as one of their own. Part of the reason it has to be her. "Dryside is on the banks of Lake Honrich. Plankside is built onto the lake herself, and houses the business district. There's also technically the Ratway, under Plankside. But almost no one considers that important."

I nod.

The crowd notices us, of course. Most of the citizenry part at seeing us. Mostly because Scarlet bears an Elven warhammer. Or is it because a group of Dunmeri is coming our way, and they don't want to get caught up in whatever's about to happen.

And what a group it is. None of them I recognize, of course, but they all wear peasant's robes, most bearing a dagger. These are the downtrodden of Riften, no doubt here to beg my favor.

"Serjo." The first reaches me. A tall, willowy man perhaps in his fifties—quite young for Dunmerii. He takes a knee, bowing his head. "I am Salvas, a blacksmith. I see your chap'thil are without customary armors. I could craft them the bonemold of your House, should you desire it." Setup alone shows us to be Telvanni, so I don't doubt most of them know exactly who we are.

We walk around him, but I make a mental note of his offer. It could prove useful, after all. Scarlet walks up in front of us, wielding her warhammer to part the rest of them.

Offers of all kinds are sent our way, from soldiers in need of work, to handmaids offering their services. I speak to none, obviously, but if I estimate correctly, there are some fifty Dunmeri in the city—none seem affluent.

Curiously, the closer we get to what I assume is the keep, the more a group near that building stands out. Their Maran robes stand out in any crowd, but it's the collection of races. Nords, Redguards, Bosmer, Dunmer, even an Argonian. It's the utter lack of Altmer, Imperials, and Khajit that strikes me most. Is that intentional?

As we approach, Maramal and Dinya Balu step forward, bowing and offering their customary greeting. "Blessing of Mara upon you."

"Three blessings upon you," Scarlet returns the sentiment, stopping at my left side to make it easier, should I need something said. I give her a look, furrowing my brow to show confusion. "Forgive us, Priests of Mara, for being so forthcoming. But may we inquire why you're here?"

"Velothi tradition," Dinya says, bowing from the hip. "When two Khans meet, the shaman would greet the guest." I'm so glad I've been drilling Scarlet in Dunmeri tradition.

"Though we appreciate the sentiment, and the upholding of your sacred traditions," Scarlet bows deeper than Dinya, "Serjo is no Khan, nor is she to wed one."

"Nor are we shaman." Dinya smiles, her eyes lit up with an impish joy. "So I figure this would be a fitting greeting all the same."

Scarlet glances to me, wondering what would be fitting to say. I murmur into her ear, and she speaks aloud for me, "We. Thank you. For your. Kind gesture. Avatars of peace. May. The blessings. Of the Three. Be your cloak."

The collection of priests and acolytes bow low to us.

After we bow in kind, I continue murmuring to Scarlet. "Will you be joining us?"

"Jarl Leila has heard of the friendly ties between us." Dinya seems a little too amused with that. "She's requested that Maramal and I join you, should you desire as much?"

I look to Vilvyni, who immediately turns to Dovyn. The siblings hold quite the wordless debate, before they shrug—likely deciding that priests of Mara aren't the type to want to be present if a poisoning is in the planning. They nod to me.

"We would be honored, Priests of Mara."

**_8-8_**

* * *

The keep is…not what I expected. While it's quite large, there's a fire pit not three yards from the entrance, surrounded by tables. And what I assume is the Jarl's throne sits beyond that on a dais, with two chairs beside it.

The entire court is seated to the tables, with servants buzzing about, setting food enough for an army.

In the seat of honor is the Jarl herself, I assume. Her dark blond hair is brushed to perfect, which her silver circlet, set with a flawless diamond and two rubies, holds in place. And her dress is too thin to allow for warmth outside—she's unaccustomed of leaving her keep.

To the Jarl's right is a Bosmerii in fine robes—Anuriel, no doubt. To her left is a boulder in human form, wearing steel armor and the largest axe I've ever seen—her housekarl.

"My Jarl. May I present Reyda, noblewoman of the Dunmer people," Maramal does the introduction. We bow low, our eyes closing out of respect and our noses pointing to the ground. "They are guests of Thane Mercer, and stay at Riftweald Manor."

"Reyda? No family name?" Law-Giver seems curious. She is either clueless of Dunmeri tradition, or she knows all too well and tests us.

"Dunmer tradition forbids her to speak it, the name of her House, and any particulars that might lead to her true identity," Dinya explains. Hmm, so she is aware of the quirks of the Great Houses.

"I don't understand." Law-Giver turns to Anuriel.

"Could it be…?" Anuriel furrows her brow, painstakingly dredging up what she knows of Dunmeri tradition. "The promise-anticipation?"

I turn to Scarlet, already at my side. "Lady Reyda is indeed participating in winolalvios. As such, there is much she is not permitted to discuss, lest her words travel and lead husband-to-be right to her. It would cheapen the tradition, and their ancestors would be most displeased with such a thing."

"I see. And what of Lady Reyda's refusal to speak?" Law-Giver really is clueless.

"Tradition as harsh as this isn't without sympathy for the upholder," Scarlet explains. "As such, to avoid potential jealousies, Serjo is forbidden to speak to any man, save her husband-to-be's chap'thiil. Of course, there are exceptions, though only those that cannot be avoided. Such as speaking to her keeper, your Thane Mercer."

"I am no man." Congratulations, Law-Giver. You've been paying attention.

"No, but you are surrounded by men. Your guards, your housekarl. A nobleman participating in winolalvios can become violently jealous. For their protection, it is best they never interact with her."

Law-Giver turns to Anuriel, no doubt having little to go on.

"Is it not tradition," Anuriel pauses, struggling to find something to say, "for the bride-to-be to amass what might be considered a small army, to strengthen her husband-to-be's House, should he find her?"

Scarlet looks to me. I lean towards her, knowing she has no idea what to say about this. "That is it exactly…Lady Reyda was sent here…with no aid…with no coin…with no weapon…her portion of the trial…is to start with nothing…and to earn status…to strengthen her muthsera's House…The more power she wields…upon his finding her…the more desirable she becomes…This is to prevent…her in-laws…from finding fault with her…After all…who would turn away…an army loyal to one's House?"

"I see." Law-Giver furrows her brow, trying to sort that little tidbit away. "And what are the odds of you deciding to stay in Skyrim upon being reunited?"

I lean to Scarlet again. "That is a matter…she and her muthsera…should best discuss privately." In other words, it isn't off the table, should I find a solid footing here. That means a potential alliance with our House, should Law-Giver play her cards right—and that's just what I want her to understand of this.

Nords typically have no love for Mer, but no one makes an enemy when already locked in a civil war. Not unless they wish to fight on two fronts, and Morrowind is but a day's ride away. Given I at least appear to be a Nord, dealing with me is preferable—racial prejudice at its best.

"You are aware that you are to follow Skyrim's, and more importantly The Rift's laws while here?"

"That goes without saying." Scarlet says the words, but it's my nod that gives Law-Giver reason to smile.

Law-Giver looks to Anuriel once again, no doubt hoping to gain more from this exchange before I'm asked to take a seat.

"Should you seek work, please do not hesitate to see Anuriel." Curious, that Law-Giver doesn't give the Bosmer chance to speak. "There are many things someone of your talents could well do for The Rift, and perhaps for me personally."

I lean towards Scarlet again. "If it should please you, Jarl…Serjo would send me to inquire at a later date…There are other matters to attend to in the immediate future, I'm afraid."

"That is acceptable." Law-Giver seems to be having an odd thought, given her eyes flick towards Anuriel, though no hint graces her features. "I have a proposal. Should you promise to seek me out before month's end, I could offer a small sum to aid in your endeavor."

"My Jarl." Anuriel's eyes purposely focus on a random spot, to not dart about. Whatever she's hiding, she doesn't want it coming to light. "Is it not wise to first discover her loyalties?"

"She is of Morrowind. She hates the empire, the Aldmeri Dominion, and especially the Thalmor more than we do. As long as we do not involve her in our civil war, I see no reason to second guess her honour in these matters."

Hmm. Law-Giver doesn't trust this Anuriel, not completely. She wishes someone who is accustomed to politics and the like, but someone not from here, to look into matters with fresh eyes. And she isn't saying it's a deposit—merely a small sum.

I bow low, showing without words that this is agreeable and beneficial to my cause.

"Excellent. Then my only condition to your continued presence here is exactly as you would desire. Do not hamper us, not in this war, and not in the foreseeable future. More I do not ask."

I lean to Scarlet. "Would it be a conflict of interests…if Serjo were to employ the Dunmer of Riften?"

"Only if they become a problem," Law-Giver repeats. I knew she would, but it's getting her to think about the implications that I need. "In fact. If you give me your word all under your command will abide by our laws without fail, it would be a boon to The Rift."

"That goes without saying, My Jarl."

"Nothing goes without saying." Law-Giver's words send the hall into a deafening silence. Anuriel's face is carefully blank, though the tension in her shoulders gives her away. Interesting.

I lean to Scarlet again. "Forgive my brazenness, My Jarl. If you were to make this…worth Serjo's wile…a private meeting could happen…before we leave?"

Law-Giver's finger taps on the table, the rhythm slow and methodic. She knows I've figured something out, and she seems to know enough about Morrowind's political system to know we are masters of the cloak and dagger. It's now only a question of how much haste and weight she wishes to lend to this situation, and how much of that urgency she wishes her court to learn of.

As the silence drags on, the status quo of her court trembles with anticipation.

"A private meeting isn't called for. Not yet." The tension in the room thickens, almost congealing like fresh butter. I'm going to enjoy these mind games. "You will have what you need before you leave."

I bow low.

"Please," Law-Giver motions to the empty seats to my right, at end of the tables. Starting low, but that's to be expected. But that also means she needs me to earn her trust before I'm allowed more… interesting jobs from her.

**_8-8_**

* * *

Frey's laughter booms through the manor, reverberating off every surface. I'm not sure what's so funny, seeing as the note Law-Giver gave me with a pouch of five thousand septims said I need to look into the skooma epidemic of Riften.

That doesn't strike me as particularly humorous.

Still, his laugh doesn't abate, nor does the redness of his face as he doubles over and holds his gut.

Instead of worrying with him, I consider what I'll need. And how much I can make this money stretch. Let's see. The going weekly salary for a guard is forty septims—at least, that's what the hold guards in Ivarstead said, all the while complaining it's criminal.

If I assume this needs to last me a full year, then we're looking at employing a maximum of ninety guards. But they'd need equipment, which is worth more than their yearly salary.

So let's see. I'll definitely need to hire that blacksmith—and why isn't there a word for blacksmith in Dunmeris? Anyway. If I hire him directly, then he'll just need a salary and the materials he'll need. I've never asked for their salary, though. Best to assume it's at least double what guards are paid.

But a blacksmith on the payroll is overkill at this stage. Hmm. But that would be advantageous in the long term. Best to at least consider it.

What I need right now, is guards. Four, perhaps eight. Not too many, because they need proper training—otherwise they'll be dead before I can blink. But I'd need to house them, and trusting Frey with that is bad for my eventual escape. But keeping too many hidden cards this early in the game could jeopardize what ground I've gained. So keep it small, take four, arm and armour them, and let Frey think I'm playing with open cards, at least where he's concerned.

Hmm. I have two full sets of Elven armour, with shields. It would be a major red flag if I dress them with Thalmor robes, so that's out. That means I can technically hire two now, suit them up, and start their training. I'd need Frey's blessing, and seeing as he's so busy laughing, I doubt he'll hesitate to give the go-ahead, provided he get his cut, or leeway in future dealings.

Or maybe…If I were to train more of them to be nightblades? Armour would be rather pointless, even if it is light armour. The point is to never need armour, and the less they look like warriors, the more efficient they truly are. All I'd need is to dress them up, and to teach them the bound weapon spells I already have in my possession. That cuts down the price of armouring them, and perhaps even arming them.

I'll have to look into purchasing fine clothes, with boots and gloves to match. But I doubt they'd go for more than fifty septims a piece, if even that much. Start-up is lower, that gives me the leeway to hire more and take my time training them.

That means the immediate problem becomes housing, and that places me at Frey's mercy. For now.

Frey's calming down, somewhat at least. So let's start the discussion, slow and steady.

"Sofie. Frey needs a goblet and the Black-Briar mead in the cellar. Scarlet, I need some tea, please see to that." The two Nords nod, one heading upstairs, the other to the cellar.

"What are you planning, Serjo?" Dovyn asks. He and Vilvyni stand before me, wearing the clothes fit for nobility, and seeing perhaps for the first time, just how deep the rabbit hole can go if they remain loyal to me. After all, I technically have the Jarl's blessing to raise an army, provided I never wage war against her or her hold.

How life has changed.

"That depends on how much free rein Frey gives me. And we won't know until he gets this cackle fit out of his system." As if to prove my point, Frey almost goes to the floor, laughing even harder than before.

Careful, Frey. She who laughs last…

Sofie comes, offering Frey the goblet and pouring him a drink. Once he's been tended to, she comes to me, questions in her eyes. Questions I as yet have no answers to, so I cannot address them.

"You said you could pull it off," Frey finally speaks, shaking his head, "but I didn't think you'd be this persuasive. The Jarl hopes to foster an alliance with this house of yours." I nod, agreeing that's her angle, but not commenting on his supposed view I'm acting—it both is and isn't the case.

"More to your goals from that meeting. Law-Giver doesn't trust Anuriel. If I were to gain her favour, I don't doubt I'll need to investigate her at Law-Giver's bidding. But more importantly, Anuriel suspects this as well. That means she has giant skeletons in her closet."

"Yes, I saw that too." Frey's eyes are lit up with amusement. "I'd like to see how this plays out. So here's what we're going to do. I'll keep two men posted here. They'll have orders to stay only downstairs, in the meeting room. You'll have free rein to use the rest of the manor. You may decorate it and furnish it as you see fit, but no permanent changes are to be made. Hire only those you can afford to keep. And report everything to me. The jobs you take, the money you make, and any secrets you uncover."

"As you wish." I bow, mostly to hide the smile tugging at my lips.

"Provided you take Scarlet with you, you may leave the manor at any time. But leaving Riften will be discussed with me beforehand." I nod, agreeing without a fuss. "Anything that requires you to leave, deserves a thorough explanation. I will know where you are going, what you plan to do there, how long you expect this to take, and if you are overdue I'll need a full report as to why."

"As you demand." I nod.

This is going to take some major finessing. And I'll need to properly test my people to ensure he doesn't plant anyone within the ranks. I don't even know if I have the skill needed to pull it off. But you know what? I've got nothing but time to figure this out.

"Then perhaps I should start with my current planning. I will start investigating the skooma dealer. There is almost no chance this will not lead out of Riften, and should I discover something I would need to leave immediately before the trail runs cold. I don't doubt it will lead to a cave nearby, less than a day's travel. I would take these three with me, leaving Sofie here along with any guards I happen to hire. And I refuse to be out in the wilds come nightfall. So I'll be in Riften before sunset. Once I know more, I will ensure Scarlet has a full report, which she'll pass on to you. Is this agreeable?"

He sips his drink, chewing on the details. "Yes. That makes sense. Take all skooma you find, and have that passed onto me as well. The ingredients do me no good, so use those as you see fit, but do not store them in this house." With that, he downs the last of his mead, and leaves.

Let the games begin.

**_8-8_**

* * *

Skooma. An alchemical potion created with moon sugar, nightshade and one additional plausible ingredient unknown to me. Known effects: boost in speed, stamina, and strength, along with euphoria (the addictive part). Known drawbacks: loss of voice, minor fits, and possibly death. Signs to look out for: jittery, scatterbrained (effect of craving their next hit), plausible shaking hands and extreme aggression if in withdrawal.

The drug is almost exclusively made by Dunmeri, so that's likely why Law-Giver wants us to look into it. Nords arresting a group of Dunmeri for drug trafficking could be twisted, if a local Dunmerii is trying to twist our people's ways against the…

Okay. Reyda. You do remember that you're a Nord, right? Wow. Cylben was right, if I think the way I'm supposed to act, it just falls into place.

"Sofie. You're holding down the fort today. I want you to study that alchemy book while we're out. And be sure you memorize every name and alchemical effect you can. I'll be teaching you your first potion tonight, if you can prove you know what you're doing."

"Alright, Serjo. You can count on me!"

"Good. Did you want me to pick up something for you while I'm out?"

"How about someone to play with?" I laugh, shaking my head. "Then maybe a doll? Or something yummy?"

"We'll see. Be good."

We head downstairs, to the front door—I don't think it's been used in recent memory. Still, Frey's man opens it, reminds us to come back through the back door, and the four of us head out.

The whole city smells of fish, even through the chill of mid-winter's air. The people are all buzzing about, from every race I know of—though the overwhelming majority are Nords. Curiously, everyone notices us, but only the Dunmeri's eyes light up.

"Serjo! How good to see you again. How are you on this fine morning?" Two Dunmeri women try strumming up a friendly conversation, both wearing little more than rags.

Even for the Dunmeri I've seen in Riften, these two seem particularly bad off.

"She is well," Scarlet says, furrowing her brow as she turns to me. She isn't sure how to handle this, but I have an idea—if it's good remains to be seen.

I lean towards Scarlet, murmuring into her ear, "Do you know somewhere we can host a gathering of at least fifty people?"

"The Bee and Barb." Scarlet doesn't even have to think about it. She's from Riften, is she. "It's run by two Argonians. Friendly enough. And they won't care as long as everyone orders something."

"Good. The meeting will be this afternoon. At four. We're looking to hire a few. Let them know, but don't get everyone's hopes up," I explain that as carefully as I can.

"It's good that you two are here." Scarlet explains in painstakingly clear details what I just said, and she makes sure to stress than only a few will be hired. After the pair repeat the exact message they are to deliver, Scarlet sends them off, assuring them they should be there as well.

The pair fly off, already talking to every Dunmerii they encounter, an air of glad tidings about them and each person that receives the news.

We'd better head to this place, to at least give these Argonians a heads up. It's only proper.

**_8-8_**

* * *

"You want what?" Keerava doesn't seem to believe what she hears. If her skin wasn't naturally so gray, I'd almost think her pale. And what's with the low-cut hem? Is she trying to sell cleavage or food and beverage?

"We're. Expecting. The majority. Of Riften's Dunmer. Here. This afternoon," Scarlet explains, talking slower and annunciating every word clearly so there's no room for misunderstanding. I'd have to agree, the woman doesn't strike me as too bright if she doesn't understand this after the fourth run-through.

"And you want a meal for each?"

"Yes. Serjo cannot hire them all, but desires to offer them at least a warm meal for their time. And a drink or two. How much would that be per person?"

Another Argonian runs over, this one green-skinned and clearly male. "Please forgive her. I'm sure this is more than she could have hoped for, My Lady."

"It's alright," Scarlet assures him, relieved to have someone that can articulate a coherent sentence—that isn't asking for a repeat. I'm no different really.

"Well, the price per person depends on what you wish served. We have apple cabbage stew, beef stew, vegetable soup, breads, cheeses, baked potatoes. Most anything for hungry patrons."

Scarlet turns to me.

It would be far cheaper to go with bread, and maybe some rabbit haunches to fill bellies. But this needs to be a message, one that they won't soon forget. So they'll know without question I'll provide for all who work for me.

Better to trust my trusted chap'thil for this one.

I turn to Vilvyni, leaning towards her. "Order what you and Dovyn would wish to eat. Max twenty septims each."

Vilvyni turns to me, her eyes looking like the twin moons. She steps behind me, to Scarlet, whispering something in her ear.

"Seriously?" Scarlet seems just as surprised, but shrugs it off quickly enough. "Well, if that's what Serjo wants. We'll need an order of beef stew with a quarter loaf of bread, and a bottle of ale. Times that by fifty, and tell us what we're working with."

The green Argonian—what was his name again?—shifts his head from side to side. "That'd be about seven-hundred septims. We'll need at least half that as a deposit."

I pluck out my money bag, and count out the full seven hundred for them.

The pair of them look at the pile of coins stacked up on the bar.

For a long.

LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG moment.

They seem to know only how to breathe.

"By the way?" Scarlet tries to jumpstart their brains for them. Keerava shakes herself out of a stupor. "Do you know anything about a skooma dealer?"

"Never touch the stuff. Ask the hussy by the docks."

And that's how you get concrete leads.

**_8-8_**

* * *

Now, if an Argonian calls someone a hussy, they're probably talking about another Argonian. With that in mind, we head down out the gates to the docks. And just our luck, a jittery yellow-green-skinned Argonian keeps buzzing about, muttering to herself.

Hmm. She's had a hit. No doubt in my mind. Probably about ready to score another, too.

With a nod, I stroll right over to her.

"Hey, you there." Scarlet calls out, startling the already high-strung reptilian.

"Hey, who? Me? What do you want with Wujeeta?"

"I know you're using Skooma. We want a hit. Where can we score some?"

"Skooma. No, no. You must be mistaken. I'm fine. Just fine. Yes, completely fine. I need to—"

Scarlet holds up her hands to calm the skittish one down. "Calm down. We're not here to get you in trouble."

The poor thing's too far gone to rationalize what's going on. I fish a health potion from my satchel, giving it to Scarlet.

"Here. Try some. It'll calm your nerves."

"Nerves. Yes, nervous. I'm just nervous. Quite nervous you see." Wujeeta unstops the blood red potion, downing it in one go. It's astounding just how much Cylben knows about skooma—I'll have to grill every last detail of how he learned about that when I see him…after I bed him a few dozen times.

"Gah!" Wujeeta sounds disgusted—must be her first. I'm immune to the taste…or at least accustomed. "By the eight! That's vile. Just vile."

"There you go. Your brain workin' again?"

"Huh? Oh. Yes. The dealer. Uh. Who are you again?"

"We're an interested party," Scarlet soothes.

"I…see. Well, I'm afraid I shouldn't say. I really should get back to work."

"A shame. I mean, after we just helped you clear your head so you can work? How long do you think it would have taken before you started risking your livelihood?" Ooh. Scarlet knows this game well. I approve. "Or, you know what? Maybe we should as your boss. Thank you, good day." We turn together, already walking off.

"No! Wait! I, uh."

I turn back, seeing the horrid demons in her mind doing the damage we need.

"You seek Sarthis Idren. Works out of the warehouse he does."

"Yeah, sure. Anything to throw us off the trail. No. I think speaking to the manager is—"

"I swear it!" Wujeeta starts digging into her pouch, producing a paper. "Here. Look! See for yourself."

She almost slaps the note into Scarlet's hand, her eyes begging for us to take it and never whisper a word of this.

Scarlet hands me the note.

_Got some new product. Top notch. Meet me by the Riften Warehouse._

_-Sarthis Idren._

A Dunmerii alright. I knew it was likely, but it still stings.

I nod to Scarlet.

"Yes. This is exactly what Serjo hoped for. Thank you for your time. And rest assured, we heard nothing from you."

**_8-8_**

* * *

With a name and location to work with, we head straight for Mistveil Keep. The Jarl is just sitting down to breakfast—a late starter, is she.

Her eyes find mine before the door even closes behind us.

"You bring news?" I nod. She motions for me to approach her, so I walk around the tables to her, bowing to get close and murmur into her ear. I make sure to stay to her left, close to her housekarl so he'll be able to react quickly to me if the need arises—I don't plan on being a threat, so what do I care.

"Sarthis Idren is the dealer. Works out of Riften Warehouse. How shall we proceed?"

"Hmm. Anuriel. I need the key to the warehouse."

"At once, My Jarl." The Bosmerii jumps out of her seat, digs into her jacket and produces a single key, giving it to Law-Giver without hesitation. She isn't involved in this, it seems.

"Take this. Along with my blessing to use whatever force is needed. Anything that shuts down this ring entirely." She sets it on the table, showing greater respect than I anticipated.

I nod, taking the key and walking out without another word. Best to handle this before word gets to Idren.

**_8-8_**

* * *

We stand outside the Warehouse, the four of us. I give them a look, wondering if they are truly ready for this. They've gotten better at conjuring their weapons, but I've yet to see them in actual combat.

"You don't have to fight," I murmur just loud enough for them to hear me. The siblings share a look, their shoulders trembling from mute laughter. "I'm serious. I can handle a few guys on my own."

The siblings hold up their hands, as if to submit, but their eyes still laugh.

"I'm not taking the risk, Serjo." While the Dunmeri laugh, Scarlet is about ready to mimic Red Mountain. She conjures her dagger, flipping it to an ice-pick grip. "You fight, I fight."

I sigh, shoving the key into the stupid door and twisting. I conjure my bow, kicking the door open just as I nock and draw.

The scantily clad Dunmerii stands there, eyes looking more like a deer than a warrior. I loose, burying the ghostly arrow in his shoulder, right under the leather pauldron he thinks will do anything for him.

He gets out a cry, but I don't mind. I wouldn't have knocked the door in if I did. And I certainly would have shot him in the face if I wanted this to be silent. "Sarthis!"

Footsteps thunder our way, up the rickety stairs. Another Dunmerii, this one wearing steel armour, shield included. Good choice.

I nock another arrow, aiming for this one's head.

Loose.

His face snaps back, his body falling like a stone in the river, landing in a heap. Dead.

"Who wears armour, and then forgets the helmet?" I complain, shaking my head in disgust. The door shuts behind me, taking the dim morning light with it. "Search the place."

I hear no movement behind me. Curious, I turn, finding three slack jaws and an impressed Nord…what's his face, who was standing around the corner.

At least this one is smart enough to wear proper armours. Oh well.

"Oh hey, Maul. Didn't…hear you come in." Scarlet seems flustered. Poor thing.

"Can't say I'm surprised. Who taught you to shoot like that, little missy?"

I nock an arrow, aiming it right for his face.

"Whoa now!" He holds up his hands in surrender. "Relax. Name's Maul. I work for the Black-Briars. And we ain't got no stake in this."

I loosen my focus on the arrow and bow, letting them fade. Curiously, the two arrows already shot, remain.

I stab a finger at the door, warning him to get out.

"Alright, alright. I'll leave." He backs away slowly, turning and walking right back out. Great. Now the Black-Briars are going to take a keen interest in me. Oh well.

"Serjo?" I turn to Dovyn, wondering at the awe in his eyes. "Forgive me, for doubting you." He and Vilvyni bow low.

"You do realize I've hunted bears." If their jaws hung low before, they're almost to the floor now. I shake my head. "Focus. Search the place. And I'll need a bag to carry the armours in. Hop to."

Turning back to the sole survivor. I walk over to him. His eyes are wide, wild with fear.

"Please. Please, Serjo. Anything. I'll do anything. I'll serve you for life. I swear by my ancestors."

"What makes you think I need you alive?"

"You don't. I know. Please. Spare my life, and it's yours. By my ancestors, I swear."

"You would offer yourself, your future bride, your descendants, everything you love?"

"Yes. Please. I know which House you hail from. I know you value slaves. Take me. Just please take me alive!"

"You are aware of what would happen should you…_prove disloyal_?"

"I wouldn't trust him, Serjo," Vilvyni warns, coming up beside me and laying her hand on my arm. "Idren was like a brother to him. Nothing would break him enough to not crave your blood on his blade."

"I see." I frown. Yes, Cylben spoke of such things. That Dunmeri would plot their revenge for centuries, generations even, striking only when the time was just right.

I conjure my bow.

"No. No! NOOO! PLEASE, SERJO! ANYTHI—"

An arrow in the mouth silences him.

A low whistle comes from the stairs. Dovyn comes with a knapsack, already half full, offering it to me. "If it can bring in a coin and wasn't nailed down, it's in there." And like nothing's the matter, he starts stripping the men of their weapons and armour.

"Serjo?" Scarlet comes up the stairs as well, holding only a note and an apothecary's satchel. "I found the evidence we need. Cragslane Cavern. The supplier's there. I also found this." She hands me both items.

"How far away is that?"

"An hour? Maybe two if we go sightseeing." Figures.

**_8-8_**

* * *

We enter Mistveil Keep, Law-Giver's eyes on us before the door even closes, even though she's discussing something with a woman I don't recognize. Her senses are sharp, I'll give her that.

"One moment, Maven. Lady Reyda. Come. What news do you bring me?"

We make our way around the tables, but I nudge Scarlet to let her know to speak this time, giving her the two keys—the one Law-Giver provided, and the one we nicked off Idren.

"We've taken care of the dealer, and we know the location of the supplier," Scarlet explains, making sure to leave out the details. Smart woman. She presents the two keys, not even bothered when the housekarl comes and takes them from her. "How do you wish us to proceed?"

"Hmm. You must act swiftly. Go, find this supplier. Put an end to the scourge that plagues my city, once and for all."

"At once, My Jarl." The four of us bow, and we head out without a word.

**_8-8_**

* * *

It's almost nine in the morning when we make it to the gate leaving the city. A guard standing watch must have said something stupid—I didn't pay attention, too busy scanning for signs of bears and other predators. All I know is something had Scarlet shouting, and one of the guards was carted off. Nothing I need to understand.

"You know. I could get used to this." I turn to Scarlet, wondering at how…blissful she is about what just happened. I might almost think she's been dreaming about it for years with how she glows.

"Did I miss something?" I keep my voice down, of course, but I know she hears me.

"Not a thing." The glow says otherwise, carrot top. "We heading out?"

"Yeah. Keep your eyes peeled. I had a bear almost sneak up on me once. I'm not looking for a repeat."

It's a pretty uneventful walk, really. No signs of predators, unless you count a fox or two. Mostly it's a cobbled path, birch trees as far as the eye can see, and an early-bird hawk scouring for a meal.

What bugs me is the lack of noise. Not just because my companions all move soundlessly—weird, but I can't say I'm surprised by it. No, I mean more the lack of birds chirping, the lack of foxes yipping, the lack of much of anything. It's quiet.

I don't like quiet. Quiet means predator they see that I can't.

And quiet is how I got kidnapped in the first damn place.

A chirp.

I snap to towards the sound. Rock warbler.

Okay. Breathe. Just breathe. You'll wear yourself down. Besides, when's the last time you had the chance to gather ingredients yourself?

Agreeing with my own logic, I decide to train all the same. I cast Telekinesis, and start plucking the red mountain flowers nearby.

The magicka of my spell snaps the branches—a bit too much power, need to relax a bit.

I try again, treating the spell as if made of thin, wet paper.

"What are you doing?" Vilvyni asks.

"Well. I need to gather ingredients, but I don't want to slow us down. So I figure this way, I can practice my spell, gather the ingredients, and keep us on schedule. I mean, we have a meeting at four. I need to get something nice for Sofie. And we still have a cave to clear out. Can't exactly stop and smell the dragon's tongue, now can…Ooh, dragon's tongue. And lavender."

I focus the spell, plucking them from some ten paces away. It's jerky at the distance, and I miss a few times, but I still gather them.

"Do you think we should get her a dagger?" I ask, wondering about that. It could prove useful.

"Scary by default. It's no wonder her muthsera fell for her." Dovyn sounds amused. Whatever.

**_8-8_**

* * *

Up ahead, three cages. There's barking and growling—wolves. There's also one man on guard—ashen-skinned, likely mer, though I dare not guess. Well, actually the logical guess is that this is another Dunmerii.

I look to Vilvyni. She smirks, conjures her bow, and looses and arrow. It strikes him in the stomach—why does no one think to wear proper armour. I mean, seriously.

At any rate, he goes down, screeching and calling for help. Dovyn takes off up the hillside, moving around for a different angle.

Another comes running out of the cave just up the ways. I assume another Dunmer, only this one is shirtless—and brainless, given snow still covers the ground.

An arrow pierces this one's chest from behind. The siblings aren't half bad archers.

We start walking up at a sedate pace, my eyes still scanning around for predators—I really don't want to be troll food.

Once close enough, Scarlet conjures her dagger and slits both men's throats and starts stripping them. Efficient, so I don't complain.

The wolves in the cages are left alone—they're not bothering us, but they'll make for nice warm pelts when we get back.

With our pack a little fuller, we move up and towards the mouth of the cave. The sound of barking and yelping and cheering tells me there's some kind of show going on.

"And they didn't invite us. How rude." My companions chuckle, quite enjoying my dark humour.

"Serjo. Please let us handle this." Dovyn practically begs. He must want to prove himself, and his sister's pleading gaze tells me she feels the same.

"I don't want a scratch on either of you." They smirk. "Alright. You get ten minutes."

The siblings bump fists, dashing into the cave together. Figuring I have the time, I turn to Scarlet.

"Should we work on Bound Bow?" she asks, her eyes smiling.

**_8-8_**

* * *

It's seven minutes later that Vivyni comes calling. Without a scratch, as demanded, and smiling like we hit the jackpot.

"Okay. What'd I miss?" I ask, fighting not to smile with her.

"Come and see."

Scarlet and I loosen our focus on our bows, and head into the cave. Down a winding corridor, and into a wide open space. There's a fighting pit, where two dead wolves lie, both already skinned. There's a dead Dunmerii at the bar, wearing only an arrow in his face. Two female Dunmeri lay haphazard on the tables, throats slit and naked.

There are a dozen or so patrons—they're all lined up, as if they tried to storm the siblings. Each bears at least one arrow, none wearing a stitch of clothing.

"Alright. I'm impressed. You two are efficient."

"There's more," Vilvyni assures me, motioning to follow her. We walk down the incline, stepping over the corpses as we go. "We've already scalped the skooma and all ingredients. The wines and ales, too. We even rolled up all the furs they were using as beds."

"If it isn't nailed down." Both of them chuckle, agreeing with me.

"There are three things we thought you would want to see for yourself." We enter another little corridor, the light at the other end already growing quite bright.

The corridor opens into a cavern. Three more cages stand to one side, each open, and Dovyn squats over another downed wolf, skinning it.

What Vilvyni points at, though, is the ginormous chest, striped blue and silver. "There's another chest over behind the bar, though that one's smaller. They open with the same keys. And there's two of them."

"Sweet. We're dragging these back with us."

"One more thing. Look." Vilvyni points up onto the incline behind the chest, at the little stack of books, and the Dunmerii wearing Nordic armors and an arrow right where his helmet should have been.

"Why does no one wear a helmet? Don't they realize how easy they make this?" More chuckles. "We saw carts outside, right?"

"We did. As soon as Dovyn finishes skinning, we're ready to move."

**_8-8_**

* * *

Getting back to Riften is simple enough. We stack all our things on one of the carts, and we take turns pulling. Sure, they try and argue that I shouldn't, and eventually I'm ordered to sit on the back of the cart and collect…Wait, how is this fair again?

Well, anyway. We get back to the gate to let us into the city. The guards are a lot wearier, leerier, but they don't fight us. Entering the dreary city just before noon, we head straight to the manor and drag our new things up into our room.

I tease Sofie about us not actually being back yet—she groans and bemoans being lonely, but she doesn't fight us.

We drag the cart down to the marketplace. Dovyn knows of a Dunmeri merchant that will buy pretty much anything. While Brand-Shei isn't your typical Dunmeri name, he likes it. And he offers three hundred septims for the cart! He's alright in my book.

That brings us right back to Mistveil Keep.

The second the door opens, Law-Giver's eyes are on us. "What news?" she all but demands.

We make our way around the tables, presenting before her side-by-side and bowing low to her.

"It is done, My Jarl," Scarlet informs her. The court starts murmuring about this or that.

"Remarkable. Simply remarkable. In just a day you've done more than most of my court has in decades."

We bow, almost as if scripted. I dunno about them, but I'm just trying to hide my smug little smirk.

"Yes. Most remarkable. But you are still an outsider, unknown to the people of my hold." Law-Giver taps the armrest of her throne, seemingly deep in thought. "There is room in my court for a new thane, but I can only grant the title to those known by my people. And you'd have to own land in the Rift. Speak to my steward, if you wish to purchase…"

That's an odd time to trail off. She isn't looking at someone, and the door certainly didn't open behind us. She's having a thought.

"Actually. I have a proposition. There's been an attack recently. Bandits that hail from Faldar's Tooth." Hmm? "If you were to wipe out the bandits there, The Rift will recognize you as the sole proprietor of the Fort known as Faldar's Tooth, and it would be yours to operate and alter as you see fit. It could serve as a Dunmer stronghold, provided you swear to stay out of our war."

Thereby not only retaliating for the attack, but removing a potential bandit nest permanently. As an added bonus, she knows I'd offer the Dunmer of Riften a home there, hire them, and remove whatever crime elements would have cropped up from poverty and desperation among our numbers.

As well. There's the possibility of us offering protection to any and all Dunmeri in the hold. That does technically mean we'd need to defend our own should the war come here. Slick, Law-Giver.

I bow, accepting her machinations with grace.

**_8-8_**

* * *

Four PM on the dot. The Bee and Barb teems with Dunmeri—so full is the establishment, that the doors remain open and a portion of the crowd stands outside. Every pair of red eyes I see, are focused on me.

I raise my hands, signalling we're about to begin, and motion for Scarlet to come to me.

"Thank you for coming!" Scarlet's voice fills the room, but they all seem far more interested in the fact that I whisper my message into her ear. "Riftkhan offered Serjo a deal. One that may well benefit us all. The Fort called Faldar's Tooth. If we purge the bandits, we legally claim it as our own."

The murmurs start up.

I raise my hands again, and the crowd stills. I lean towards Scarlet.

"What Serjo offers you is unfettered truth. There will be no support from her House, financial or otherwise. So joining us in this endeavour is not, and will not be, your path to riches. There is even a chance her muthsera does not find her, refusing her would-be status."

The crowd grows restless, looking around with a nervous tension. Mutterings of winolalvios, and of a Dunmeri settlement.

"However. What Serjo gains here, is hers and hers alone. What she earns, no one may take from her. Serve her, and she will provide for her people as long as she breathes. She swears this on her ancestors."

"What does she plan?" Someone from the back shouts, but there's a wave of agreement—they all want to know.

How open should I be with potential leaks? Not very. "No outsider may know…All that will be said…is that there will always be food on your table…a roof over your head…and a willing…what's a sho-ray-shag?"

I laugh.

"Teacher," one of the crowd says, eyes wide and jaw low. "You would train us?"

I murmur into Scarlet's ear. "Serjo doesn't require your answer today. But know that training…would require a more official vow…She does not need only spellswords…masons…blacksmiths…healers…handmaidens…traders…All walks of life will be needed…Please. Sit and eat. Find us when you have your answers."

**_8-8_**

**_End Chapter 4_**

**_8-8_**

* * *

**_A/N: Hmm. How far this little Reyda has come. But how much farther will she go?  
_**


	5. What lies within?

**_From Talos, with Love_**

**_"With great power comes great responsibility. A shame they never mentioned a nocked arrow or a dagger dipped in poison, because I'm not taking responsibility for any of that."_**

**_Chapter 5—What lies within?_**

**_8-8_**

* * *

_2nd of First Seed, 4E 200._

_Dinya Balu came to me this morning. Said Mara sent her a vision of a Dunmerii wearing her cult's robes. He was with a Nord with the eyes of a dragon, and seemed most interested in my safety._

_I don't know what to make of it. An Aedra I do not worship sending a vision involving me? Let alone this Dunmerii wearing Maran robes and travelling with a Nord. What to make of that?_

_That aside, there are more pressing matters. The meeting yesterday is as yet without fruit, but I saw it in their eyes. All know which house I hail from, for good or for ill. I doubt most would serve me, but all I need is a few. I'd take a few with undeniable loyalty, over a thousand treasure-seekers._

_Frey visited last night. This Maven Black-Briar is indeed interested in me. So much so, that she wishes a private meeting with me. When I simply started talking about scouting Faldar's Tooth, he laughed. At any rate, I have his full support, but I must finance and facilitate whatever I intend this to be without him and/or his associates. _

_I am, however, curious. He visited me twice, neither time producing a list of potions._

**_8-8_**

* * *

I cast Telekinesis, focusing my far more malleable magicka into the Elven daggers I lay on the floor in my bedroom. Unlike how I usually pull it to me, I try doing other things. Things like pushing it from me—it just shivers. Things like lifting it off the ground—it just shivers. Things like making it rotate…hmm, it flips and flops as I please, its rattling a joyous music to my ears.

Hmm. Okay, I can turn and rotate it. I can bring it to me. So why can't I do anything else?

"Scarlet? Bring my Telekinesis spellbook?" I have it in hand not a moment later, and suddenly all eyes are on me. Their curiosity soars, wondering why I need the spellbook of a spell I'm currently casting 'well enough'.

Reading from cover to cover, I don't find any clue what I'm doing wrong.

"Do any of you already know this spell?" The four of them look nervous. "What? You know where the spellbooks are. Why would you not learn all of them?"

"Well…" Vilvyni's eyes dart about, as if trying to find the words. "You…did say you wanted to…teach us…after we mastered what we know?"

"Yes?" I narrow my eyes. "And just like with Scarlet, once she learned Bound Bow, I showed her how to summon quicker, and to shoot further. It's a work in progress, mind you. But it's meant to motivate you to practice each spell to perfection, not to tell you not to learn new ones."

The siblings share a look, their eyes wide. Scarlet isn't doing much better, her mouth acting as a fly catcher. At least Sofie is beaming—the only one that accepts I want them to grow strong.

"Come now. I fear disloyalty, not strength. And frankly, if you manage to outpace me, that just means I need to work harder to stay ahead."

Scarlet heads right over to my knapsack, fishing out the spellbooks. She takes two of them, Summon Familiar and Flaming Familiar. I nod, approving.

"Can. I borrow that?" Dovyn asks, hand trembling as he indicates the Telekinesis spellbook currently in my grasp.

"It's not doing me much good right now." I clap it closed, offering it to him.

"Hey, Serjo? Could you teach me to shoot arrows?" Even Sofie wants in on all the training.

"Hmm. Alright, but you're only allowed to practice with one of us keeping an eye on you. The last thing I want is for you to turn the manor into sawdust."

I turn to Vilyvni, wondering why she isn't bugging me for something. Her nose is buried in the Mark spellbook, with Recall sitting in her lap. Smart. Hmm. I should probably teach them Detect Life, it's useful. Then again, I haven't learned Mark and Recall, or the two familiar spells. I should probably get to that.

**_8-8_**

* * *

Another night, another patient. Patients, I should say. Three of them. A Khajiit, a Bosmerii, and a Nord—an odd collection, if ever there was one. Still, they sit by the hearth, to warm up, each with a goblet in one hand, filled with mead, and a rabbit haunch in the other to fill their stomachs.

Hmm. I should look into training one of my people in Restoration. It might well save a life one day, and it isn't as if we're lacking patients for them to practice on.

"Here." Sofie offers the Khajiit a sweetroll. Slitted eyes peer up at her, filled with questions. "I read that Khajiit love anything sweet. Serjo doesn't keep much in the manor, but we have this."

And I might just have the perfect candidate. Will discuss it with her in the m…why is she awake? Whatever.

"This one is most grateful, cub. My thanks to your Dra-Serdgio." Hmm. This one respects me? Curious. Or is that simply gratitude for saving her life? Not that it matters. They'll be gone by morning. They always are.

"NO! PLEASE! ANYTHING BUT THAT! PLEASE NO!"

I snap to the sound. It's coming from the courtyard? Screaming, sounds female. At two in the morning? I don't like the picture that paints.

I head into the meeting room, three pairs of footsteps right behind me. Mercer's boy opens the door without hesitation, vindication in his eyes and a smirk on his lips.

Out into the courtyard. There's a silhouette just outside the iron bars. I cast Telekinesis, grabbing the supposed man, jerking him towards me with all my might.

A surprised shriek rings out, but it isn't from my victim. No, it's the woman. A Dunmerii. In rags.

Red eyes find mine as I come closer, her jaw quivers, her arms wrapped around her middle as if a hug—or perhaps to place a barrier between us. "Serjo. Please, this…this isn't what it looks like. He. That man. He did this, he's responsible, I swear on my ancestors."

"Explain this. And hold nothing back," I demand.

"Serjo!" Her eyes are wide, perhaps more fearful than before. If she knows anything about the winolalvios, she knows this man is already dead. "I… he… Serjo, please. I swear, I wanted no part in this."

"And yet, here you are."

"He kidnapped my girlfriend. Told me I had to do a job if I wanted to see her again. But when he brought me here, he told me I had to draw you out. Please, Serjo. Please, believe me I wanted no part in this!"

Two shadows come out from either side of the alley, each wearing the same furred armour of what I'd expect from bandits. Nords, all three of them. The one on the left holds a Dunmeri woman by the throat.

These are the two that helped me the other day, the ones that spread the word for me. I never did thank them properly.

I reach out with my spell, grabbing the wrists of the Nord holding the woman. With a jerk, the sound of snapping bones fills the night, soon followed by his pain cries.

The woman flees from him, right towards the other woman. They embrace each other, keeping to the wall and making themselves as small as possible.

The sound of conjuring. Bowstrings tighten. And three arrows are loosed. All three men sport and arrow in their chest.

I turn, just in time to see Scarlet, Vilvyni, and Dovyn's bows fade from this plane, the last glimmers of light showing proud smirks on the conjurers' faces.

"Strip them."

"Serjo, no! Please no!" The women seem to misunderstand.

"I refer to the corpses," I soothe, motioning for them to calm down. "You two are free to go."

They stand there, too shocked to move. Too shocked too even breathe, by my guess.

"Sofie?" Little footsteps come thundering my way. I figured she'd want to know what's going on. "Bring me a bottle of ale and two loaves of bread."

It's not a minute later that my brunette is back. She slips the items through the gate, knowing they're meant for the women. "We ran out of ale, but we have some mountain flower mead. The bread's fresh, too. Serjo baked it herself."

They take the items from Sofie, running off into the night before we have the chance to change our minds.

**_8-8_**

* * *

"Serjo?" I jerk awake, already looking around to take in everything at once.

I…fell asleep? I never sleep after seeing to a patient.

"Come." Vilvyni motions to the chair by the heart with a half loaf of bread in hand. I stumble out of bed, and plop in the chair with a drunkard's grace. A wooden goblet is offered first, smelling of blue mountain flower tea. "Careful, it's hot."

"Thanks." I blow and sip, quite enjoying the sweetness—she added honey, just the way I like it.

"You're not yourself." She takes the empty seat beside me. "Not only did you fall asleep, which never happens after tending to the injured. But you slept passed noon."

It's passed noon?

"What's going on, Ser?"

I sip my tea, wondering about that myself. "I have been feeling sluggish lately," I admit, gazing into my goblet. "Sorry. I don't really know why."

"Any other symptoms? Something I'm not seeing?" she presses.

"Other than feeling tired?" Hmm. "Nothing I can think of. It's probably stress, with everything going on."

"We're worried about you. Please, Reyda."

"I wish I knew more myself. I find myself irritable and craving my muthsera almost desperately. Both of which are readily explained. My being tired is likely how frequent these nightly visits are. Other than that…?" I'm not usually this lethargic when I wake up. "Well, the listlessness is probably from oversleeping. But there isn't anything else I can think of."

"But you'd tell me if you thought something was wrong?"

"It depends on the situation," I admit. She shrugs, conceding my point. "When it comes to my health, though? Yeah. I'd tell you."

She narrows her eyes. "You think me loyal to Mercer."

I sip my tea—the only answer she needs.

"Well. Can't say I blame you. Especially in these circumstances." She offers me the bread. I take it, taking a bite. "Scarlet told me your tale. Or what she knows, at least. So level with me. Are you in love with a Dunmerii from House Telvanni?" She tries to keep her face blank, but a sliver of yearning slips through all the same.

"You know I cannot answer that."

"Is it the alchemist that built his shack near Ivarstead?"

I square my jaw, looking away from her.

"B'vek."

I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to see her reaction.

"So that's how you learned so much about…"

A weight lands on my knee, teasing a weary sigh from me.

"Your tea'll get cold."

**_8-8_**

* * *

"You want me to do what now?" Scarlet is not impressed with our current training. No matter that it's the first semi-warm day of the year, no matter that the sun shines brighter than it has in months.

"You heard me." My patience is already low, woman. Don't test me.

"Hearing ain't the problem. It's the believing."

"Look." I walk over to the archery target, sit down, and get comfortable. "All you need to do, is shoot the arrows at the target. You train your archery. I train with Telekinesis. And we see if there's a way to capture the arrows mid-flight. I see nothing but gain."

"You're not the one firing arrows at her Serjo," she complains, groans, and rolls her eyes up to the heavens. "You know what? Fine. But you forfeit the right to complain if I shoot an arrow through your skull."

She conjures her bow, nocks an arrow, and draws. She eases her draw, slow to not risk loosing the arrow.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Loose the damn arrow!"

"Alright, alright." She draws back, but slowly eases again. "Maybe we should practice with—"

"Nchow! Just do it!"

I cast Telekinesis. The second she draws back, I pluck the damn arrow from her.

"Hey!" she complains. Realization hits her like a hammer to the face.

"Again!"

She nocks and draws, loosing without a problem this time.

I slap at the projectile with my magicka, but it hits the target all the same. I missed, she didn't.

"Again!"

She looses and I slap at the arrow again. I hit the arrowhead, sending it spinning. I was closer that time.

"Again!"

**_8-8_**

* * *

We walk through the crowded marketplace, over to Marise Aravel, the Dunmerii food merchant we buy from. We make some small talk, as usual. The latest gossip—some Bosmerii's new in town, but no one knows much about him. Her pointing out that Keerava orders from her, so I should feel free to make such a large order there again—good for her business and her stomach, since she was there and ate her fill. Selling fresh herbs we grow in our garden. Buying some meats and fish—tasting and smelling fresh, of course, since it's still chilly enough, and she uses crushed ice wraith teeth soaked in resist fire solution to boot. She's been so agreeable since I started slipping her a flask of it now and again, and her prices have suddenly gotten so much better for us.

It's nothing special, all things considered.

A Nord woman walks over to us, bags under her eyes but smiling best she can. "Sorry to jump in."

"Not at all," Marise assures her. "What can I get you, Svanna?"

"The usual." While Marise gathers the things—I don't know what, nor do I care to—Svanna's attention turns to us. "Oh, hey. New faces. Well met, friend. I'm Svanna. I work at the Bunkhouse. Who might you be?"

"Oh, you don't know?" Marise seems more than a little surprised, for some reason. It's not like we're that important. "This is Reydaserjo." She sighs and rolls her eyes at the slip. "Lady Reyda, I mean. And her…uh…dahroshir chap'thil gher common?"

"Well, usually guards, but these two are housekarls," Scarlet supplies. Marise looks surprised. "What? I hear these three talking each other's ears off in Dunmeris. Of course I'm going to pick up some of it."

"You…hear them speak?" Marise asks, so taken aback that she stops gathering Svanna's order.

"Not in public, obviously. But yeah. A lot. Can stop yacking, really." I swat Scarlet, but she only laughs.

"Must be nice." Svanna's wistful tone ticks my eyebrow higher. "Being treated well by your employer, I mean. I work for my aunt, but really, it's little better than slavery."

"You don't say," Scarlet says, nudging me with her elbow. Subtly done, so the message is for me, not Svanna. "She mistreats you?"

"I'd. Rather not talk about it." You're the one that brought it up.

"Suit yourself. Anyway, Marise. We'll be off. You be sure to let us know if you run out of herbs, okay?"

"Speaking of which. How do you grow them so quickly?" Marise tries. I smirk. "Of course. Should have known. Azura's wisdom upon you."

"Three blessings upon you."

We barely get ten paces before a friendly face greets us. We exchange greetings, exchange gossip, and I marvel at Scarlet's ability to never lose her patience when dealing with people.

Soon we arrive at Brand-Shei's stall—after at least another six exchanges. Another Dunmerii merchant, though he doesn't make a distinction in what he sells—as long as it isn't stolen, he's fine with buying and selling it. Really, do people just not realize that I'm not going to pester them for them to join me?

"Ah, Serjo. I have your order right here. Cost a pretty septim, but nothing's too good for nobility." He fishes out a package, wrapped in paper. He carefully unwraps it, showing the contents. "Ash yams, scathecraw, and trama roots. Three each, as ordered. And I'll have the bags of ash delivered to Riftweald for you. So you don't bog yourself down with it."

"And our other order?"

"That's taking longer. My supplier in Blacklight assures me they are common enough, so he'll have them ready the second he gets back. Should arrive by next week."

"Including…?"

"No." I can't say I'm surprised. "Siltstrider eggs are quite rare these days, even if those that have them are doing all they can to bolster the numbers. The kwama eggs are a virtual guarantee, though. In fact, he offered to double the volume for only twenty-five percent more coin. I figure, if you won't buy it off me, I'll get it sold just the same."

"Good." Scarlet looks to me, to see if I have something to say. I shrug. What is there to say? We won't know how much space we'll have until we control Faldar's Tooth. "Well, no promises. But thank you for the information all the same."

"Of course. That'll be fifty septims. And another hundred on delivery of the ash. What time did you want it delivered?"

**_8-8_**

* * *

It's almost midnight. I can tell just by the harried movement downstairs, by the harsh whispers, and the careful demands to wake me. It's back to this again. Fifth night in a row—dunno what their deal is, getting messed up this regularly. At least it's different thieves each time, but it's still bothersome.

"Please. She's the only one I'd trust…please."

I get out of bed and make my way over to the alchemy alcove. I don't know how many are injured, and I don't know how bad said injuries are. But if they need me, there isn't a doubt in my mind this is going to be gruesome.

I grab a few of each potion, and down the stairs I go. Into the meeting room, only to find no one injured. The Bosmerii from the other night is here, with his Khajiit accomplice. The Nord is curiously missing. Scarlet gives the pair a dirty look, coming to me.

"I'm sorry. I tried not to wake you." She scoops the potions out of my grasp and lays them on the table. "These are La'Vaar and Engrien Ivyrun. They're here to…bother you at the wrong time."

I motion for her to get on with it.

"I really don't want to weigh you down with this, Serjo. You…" Still motioning, but it's the sigh that shuts her up. "They're looking to quit the Guild. But they have no other skills of note. Engrien was in the Bee and Barb during our little talk. So, they're hoping to either get a few small jobs from you, or to butter you up enough that you'll consider letting them join."

Still motioning for her to continue. I know there's more.

"Engrien was the one that had the run-in with the Thalmor. They put quite the bounty on his head. And if anyone even notices La'Vaar within the city, she'll be arrested or killed. She's tired of living on the run."

"Actually." The Bosmerii seems to have more to say, but I don't turn to him. "The bounty was there before I left Valenwood." The slight edge to his tone hints at a deeper tale than this.

I lean towards Scarlet. "Green Pact."

"Ah, good point. What's your stance on the Green Pact?"

"I adhere to it religiously," Engrien intones, obviously being sarcastic. I turn to him, finding a rakish grin on his face. He's quite a bit shorter than me, the top of his head perhaps reaching just under my bust.

"You are aware of what I'd have to do to you, if I decide you flirt with Serjo?"

"Heh." He's too amused for his own good. "It's her beloved's reaction I have to watch out for. And I don't doubt you'd tell him every detail."

The door behind me opens. Dovyn and Vilvyni walk in, both with creases on their faces to show they just woke up, and each brandishing an Elven greatsword. I smirk, cocking an eyebrow at the Bosmerii.

"This one thinks you might not survive long enough to find out," La'Vaar teases, the corner of her mouth quirking up. Curious, that this La'Vaar looks different from the few Khajiit I've ever seen. She's lithe, less wild-cat-like, and she walks more on her toes than man—far more domestic-cat-like. Her sandy brown fur, though? Not sure if that's common or not. "Oh? Do the moons smile for this one?"

I lean to Scarlet. "The trust thing."

"Actually. I think it's because of the other night." I narrow my eyes, wordlessly asking Scarlet to elaborate. "Think about it. You saved their hides more than once. You treat La'Vaar like a person. And your connection to non-Hlaalu Dunmer means Engrien doesn't have to worry about you turning him in to the Thalmor."

That's at least plausible.

"They stay tonight."

"Serjo requests you stay the night. Be warned, going upstairs is strictly forbidden."

**_8-8_**

* * *

We stand on the hill overlooking Faldar's Tooth. Whoever designed this place, was an idiot. I can see every bandit in there. Well, every bandit not actually in the keep. The walls have deteriorated with time, one of the towers collapsed entirely. There's a part to the back where we can easily scale the wall and avoid the two front entrances altogether. And the idiots on patrol seem only lightly armoured.

This place will be easy to capture. It's keeping it that worries me.

We'd need at least ten on patrol at all times. And another twenty, if not more, to start rebuilding this place. That's a lot of food, a lot of beds to fill, and a lot of money we don't have.

I blink.

Well. These bandits are marked for death. And House Telvanni is known for…_free_ _labour_. Hmm. But that would require strong guards to keep them in check. Unless, of course, they learn to fear me so completely that they'd piss themselves just thinking of my anger.

Is that really a path I wish to wander? Slave-keeping? Hmm. What if I do this differently? What if I swoop in, knock them out, and tie them up? There must be cells to keep them in. I mean, it's a fort. I could interview them, see which are willing to serve me. Any that resist, die—per Law-Giver's orders. And if they know that, they'll likely be more malleable. Well…It couldn't hurt. Now, how do I dis…arm…them…?

Now that's just bad.

"Let's go." I saunter down the hillside, right towards the fort, to the spot where the wall is lowest, and the ground is highest. I jump up onto the wall, easing myself up and into the fort.

"Well ain't this a surprise."

"You picked a bad time to get lost, friend."

I stand up to my full height, seeing the fools nocking arrows. I cast Telekinesis and rip the bows from their hands. To be sure, I take their daggers while I'm at it.

One of the Nords, angered for some reason, decides to rush me. "Victory or Sovngarde!"

I wrap my magicka around his shin, tugging just before its next footfall. He does the most painful looking split I've ever seen, his hands shooting to his crotch as a pained and mute cry of anguish erupts from the depths of his soul.

One of them turns heel, running and crying about how they're routed and to fall back. I give him the same treatment.

Walking up to my first victim, I kick him in the face, knocking him out cold.

"What's going on down there?!"

I look up, finding the bandit chief atop the tower ledge looking over. Well, if he's the leader, odds are he won't be taking orders from anyone—and if he does, it's only until he turns on me.

I nock an arrow to the newly confiscated bow, firing it up at the chief. It barely makes it halfway up—I must be used to a heavier bow. I drop the worthless junk, conjuring my bow instead. This just wasn't meant to be all too challenging.

**_8-8_**

* * *

Dovyn drags the bandit chief's corpse by the leg, the studded leathers scraping against the cold stone. In front of me are three dozen bandits, unarmed, bound, and on their knees. There are groans here and there, signalling the last few rouse at last.

We are in some kind of arena, where the fools had wolves fighting for sport. There's blood everywhere, even on the stairs outside the bars. Not that it matters. These fools will be cleaning that.

The bandits are arranged along the circular pit we're in. The leather strips we found, bind them to the cold iron bars—feet and arms, so there won't be any nasty surprises.

All eyes are on the pincushion that used to be their chief.

"I assume we have your attention," Scarlet says, just as Dovyn releases his grip and comes to stand at my flank. Curiously, Vilvyni comes down the same path, with a Dunmerii wearing plain clothes. I don't remember seeing…Oh. The man in the cage. Right. He wasn't armed, and didn't appear threatening, so I let him be.

Vilvyni stops him at just shy of three paces from me, places her hand on his shoulder, and shoves him down onto his knees.

His eyes are wide, fearful. But it isn't from the gaggle of bandits tied up around him. No, it's how Vilvyni comes to me, how she whispers into my ear.

"He's harmless. The ex-cook here."

I nod, looking to Scarlet, who comes to my side. "Speak, sera. That Serjo may hear."

The man's ashen face turns pale, his jaw hanging low. The surprise is quickly replaced by cold dread as he spies Dovyn and Vilvyni now behind me. He spies our lack of armour, as well. Given we just took out the entire fort, he knows that means we're spellcasters.

"My. My name is. Is Ulen. I was. Was the cook. Please, Serjo. I know your House. I would serve you. You and yours. With all my heart. Please. Spare me." Through his little speech, his jaw quivers and tears pour down his cheeks. This isn't acting. He's deathly afraid.

"Bah. Elf scum cowing before his elf-loving master." I conjure my bow, loosing an arrow right into the speaker's crotch. Another arrow is loosed right into his gut. Two more, one for each lung.

The Nord foolish enough to take that tone stands there, his gasps for air becoming more and more desperate as his lungs fill with blood. The coughing starts, spilling the remnants of his life down his jaw and staining the stone at his knees.

The rattles come next. His death throes.

I loosen my focus, letting bow and quiver fade from this plane.

No pair of eyes is without fear. None fault this Ulen from pleading for his life. Their disadvantage is that I know Nord ways. If they do not die in battle, they are denied Sovngarde. A fate worse than slavery—a form of death they fear.

The Redguards, while in the clear minority, are just as fearful. Curious.

"If there's no one else dumb enough to mouth off?" Scarlet intones. A full minute passes, soundless as the grave. "Good. F'lah, stand and speak of what services you could offer."

Ulen slowly makes to stand, his motions jerky and twitchy. "I'm a cook. Trained in Blacklight. I make scuttle and greef." His eyes dart back and forth. "I helped build my former masters manor. Kept it clean too. The whole thing. And I'm strong as a kagouti. I can carry anything you need."

A slave, through and through. I look to Scarlet, nodding.

"Very well, Ulen. Serjo hears your plea. She awaits only your vow."

**_8-8_**

* * *

With Ulen locking the last bandits in their cell—this place has a dozen cells, most of which have troths, odd—I figure now's a good time to scope this place out. I mean, staying here and planning just isn't going to work, not with the bandits all begging to serve me.

I send Vilvyni and Dovyn to check every inch of the interior—they know what that means. I head out into the courtyard. Well, one of them. Up the stairs, onto the main terrace. From there, I head towards the lowest tower, up the winding stairs. There's a walkway to the middle tower, giving me a view of Riften and the lake that separates us. Hmm. There's a collection of isles in the lake, with an estate tying the four largest together. Interesting, I didn't notice that before.

Into tower number two, up more winding stairs. It's odd, that these staircases are so wide. Out onto another terrace, overlooking the lower tier and the two courtyards. This is where we first entered, so that wall has to be raised at least another meter. Or perhaps claim that section of ground and build another wall around it, turning it into a third courtyard, perhaps a garden.

Into the final standing tower—I'm still annoyed the let the fourth tower collapse—and up yet more winding stairs. At the top, the tower opens up to the heavens, with a wooden scaffolding above me, and a wooden veranda overlooking the lake.

I climb the last set of stairs, and the view robs the air from me. I can see every detail of the estate on the lake, and though hazy from the distance, I can see the same of Riften. The dense woodlands that make up The Rift are splayed out before me.

Something from the corner of my eye draws my attention. Another fort, hugging the mountainside in the distance, due south. Its smooth stone looks odd amongst the jagged rocks.

But that's beside the point. I look down on the fort I now own. Yes. That fourth tower needs to be rebuilt. Those worthless gates need to be replaced, and I'm not too fond of iron.

Much of the stonework needs to be replaced. And the support I've seen inside is almost non-existent; it's no wonder so much collapsed. The builders were all idiots.

Hmm. Ideally, I'll rip this fort apart and rebuild it from the ground up. But that'll take time I don't have, materials I have no access to, and manpower isn't a factor to ignore. Let alone the expertise to pull something like that off.

No. I'll have to reinforce what I can. Perhaps with clay, then use spellflame to bake it into place. But that means I need clay. And lots of it.

Alright. Take a minute, and think. What do you currently have at your disposal?

A forge, tanning rack, grindstone, and cooking spit. There's space enough to house a small army—that's only a boon if I command said army. I didn't notice any ore or ingots, but even if there are some, it'd never be enough for the work I need done.

I'll need to either start making some serious coin, or gain control of a mine. Somehow I doubt Law-Giver will be happy knowing I control one of her hold's mines. So we need to start making money. Lots of it.

Hmm. There's lots of space. Enough to farm—while it'll never be a get rich quick scheme, it's sure to make money. Everyone needs to eat.

And with the ingredients I already ordered from Morrowind, we're talking a niche for the Dunmeri populous of Skyrim. But fact is that's a minority here, and a predominantly impoverished one at that.

No, that just won't do.

Hmm. I could, however, turn these bandits into a proper army. Hire them out to…No, that's Redoran's shtick. Telvanni is the wizard lords' house, we're the ones that take a few good spellcasters and turn each into an army unto themselves. And that's exactly the kind of power I could never give to these bandits. Theirs would be a loyalty born of fear and that will never make them loyal to me, only to their desire to cling to life.

Unless. I turn this place into both a farm and a college. Train them to become the fiercest spellswords of the land.

But why would they be loyal to me? I'll need to learn a lot more about them before I can gauge if they'd be worth that kind of risk. And that's assuming I can even train them. I have a lot of training to do myself, which means I can't be here to hold their hands and study them. Perhaps killing them is the kinder fate for them and for me. Mostly for me, though—I really don't want the headache.

No, Reyda. There's an angle here. An angle you can make work for you. I need to farm regardless. Even if only to ensure my own people are fed. The surplus can be sold at a reasonable price to the merchants in Riften. Small amounts of income, but that cuts my expenditures. A solid idea.

If I keep the majority of these bandits around as unskilled labour, I can start building up this place slowly over time, and they'd make for excellent farmhands. Perhaps there'll be a few among their ranks that I can earn the loyalty of, but this way I won't care if it's impossible.

As an added bonus, if any of the Dunmeri of Riften offer themselves to me, I can reward them with a servant or two. But that's not something I'm going to advertise, now is it.

**_8-8_**

* * *

Dovyn and Vilvyni find me putting the final touches on the drawing of Faldar's Tooth—the chief was so kind as to leave three rolls of paper, a quill, and a well of ink here for me. One is the map of the outside (roughly diamond-shaped), one a map of the inside (from what Scarlet and I could gather, triangular from the collapse of the fourth tower), the last is notes of things I need and plans of things I want to change (which includes plans to tear down this junk pile and build a new fort in its place).

"We have everything not nailed down. Other than the furniture. That's too heavy to lug back," Dovyn teases. I only nod, setting the quill aside. "Ulen's keeping an eye on the bandits. So you can speak freely."

"Good. Here's the plan." I roll up the paper, hoping for the best with the ink—it was more for my sorting through things, but still. It'd be nice if it was legible. "We're going to turn every possible surface into farming area. We want to grow enough food to sustain us and all those we house here. Any surplus would be sold to Marise Avarel. That cuts down costs, at least. Fact is, though. Our main concern isn't food, it's our training. We need to start taking high paying jobs from Law-Giver, bolster our funds, and use that to buy the theory and spellbooks we need."

"What about making greef?" Vilvyni suggests. "It would make some serious money."

"In Morrowind, and maybe in Solstheim. Here in Skyrim they only buy mead, ale, and wine. Brandy is too imperial for their tastes."

"Unless we market it to Solitude," Scarlet chimes in. "They'd buy anything with alcohol."

"Hmm. There's the chance, yes. Perhaps market it to the Dunmeri of Riften under a different name, but that's going to take time and resources we as yet lack. What I need from you three is for you to kick up your training. And we need to start making use of Mark and Recall. Mark this room. If things go belly up, we Recall here and regroup."

I focus Mark and cast it with a tingling as speckles of light arc off me. The three of them follow suit.

"Now. What we need to acquire materials to fortify this place. We'll need straw, glass, quarried stone, clay, wood, and only Azura knows what else."

They nod, filing that away.

"What do we do with the bandits?" Scarlet asks, nervous.

I sigh, unsure what to even think about them. I should have just killed them. Really. "I'm not leaving Ulen here. Maybe we can ask Engrien and La'Vaar to mind them and keep them fed until we come up with something?"

"You checked that chest, right?" Dovyn walks right over to it, opening it. A low whistle tells me this is going to be interesting. "That's one big gem."

I narrow my eyes, walking over to see. Sure enough, alongside a daedric dagger, a silver and sapphire circlet, some gold in a little pouch, and a silver ring with a sapphire, there's a gem half a forearm's length. White, with dozens of little facets.

Dovyn reaches for the gem.

"Don't touch it." I slap his hand away. "Something tells me that thing's more trouble than it's worth."

"All the more reason I should touch it and not you." He stubbornly takes the gem. I wait. Everyone waits. A full minute, not a sound, no explosion. Nothing. "See. Perfectly safe."

I reach out and touch the gem.

**"A new hand touches the beacon."**

I jerk my hand back. "Did you just hear that?" I get three shaking heads, with eyes narrowing in suspicion.

I touch the gem.

**"Listen, mortal. Hear me and obey."**

I move my hand back. All I hear is the chirping of rock warblers.

I touch the gem.

**"Will you stop doing that!"**

"A talking gem. Oh. Kay. Dovyn didn't hear anything, which means either I'm susceptible and he's not, or we're dealing with some kind of mystical device."

**"A Nord with a brain, a true rarity. Though one with more mouths than ears. Listen. Hear me and obey. Return my beacon to—"**

"Let me stop you right there." The others are really starting to get freaked out. Dunno why. Talking gems are far more worrying than my sass. "I don't follow orders from talking gems. And I certainly don't like where you're going with this."

**"Who do you think you are?"**

"A simple mortal with enough sense to know that if I stop touching this beacon of yours, I stop hearing your voice. Now, either you start being civil, or I toss this into the lake."

"Please stop antagonizing whoever that is," Scarlet begs. Dovyn nods emphatically, his eyes wide.

**"Very well, mortal."**

"Reyda."

**"Mortal."**

"Reyda."

**"I heard you."**

"So listen. Hear me. And obey."

**"DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU'RE SPEAKING TO?!"**

"No. Someone won't be civil and introduce herself. Imagine that. You'd almost think someone with the power and intellect to enchant a gem big enough to replace someone's skull, would have learned simple etiquette. Let's try this. Hi. My name is Reyda Bear-Slayer. What's yours?"

**"I am Meridia. Daedric Prince of Life and Infinite Energies. I am the Scourge of the Undead and the Angel of—"**

"So you're Meridia. Noted."

**"I wasn't done."** Hold your horses, oh prince of impatience.

"Your name is all I need. I know your history as well as any _puny mortal_. You need something undead killed. Likely along with the necromancer that conjured it. Right?"

**"Yeeeees?"** She's being cautious. Curious.

"Good. What do I get out of it?"

**"EXCUSE ME?!"**

"Look. Undead don't like staying dead. Add a necromancer that you already admit is part of the equation, and I'm looking at some serious trouble. Now. Either you're going to help me, or I'm getting a major reward for the trouble. Otherwise, you best hope the next person worthy of touching this knows how to swim."

**"Mortal."**

"Reyda. You heard me the first time."

**"You owe your very existence to me and mine. As such you—"**

"You can shove that right up your daedric ass. You didn't seem to give a flying fuck when two men kidnapped me in the middle of the night, when they threatened to murder my family if I didn't cooperate. So why should I care that you want something dead?"

**"Because he defiles my temple!"**

"I have one of you in my life as is. I am not taking on a second." I grab the stupid beacon from Dovyn, shove it in the chest, and take the other things out. I slam the damned thing shut so hard something breaks. I'm not in any pain, so I really don't care.

**_8-8_**

* * *

Once back in Riften, we head straight for the manor, to offload our haul. Dovyn gives Sofie the doll he found—not sure I want to understand where he found that, we make some small talk and introduce Ulen, making sure to tell him that he's in charge of cooking all meals for us.

With that handled, we head over to Mistveil Keep, and inform Law-Giver that the bandits have been handled.

"Excellent. Then from this day on, Faldar's Tooth is your property." Anuriel comes presenting the deed. Scarlet accepts it. I bow, and turn to leave. "Are you quite alright, Lady Reyda?"

I walk off.

I should head to the manor, I know I should. It isn't smart to be around people right now. But if I go there, I'll take out my anger and frustration on the people closest to me.

Instead, I find myself down on the lakeside. On the docks, gazing out at the placid waters.

Plopping onto the rough wood, gazing longing out at the life I should have had—simple and predictable like the fishermen.

But I just had to go and fall in love with a Telvanni lowborn. It honestly wouldn't surprise me if one of the higher-ups is behind this, behind all of this. And even if they aren't, it's not as if they'd lift a finger to aid me, no matter how Cylben pleads for it.

That's the reason winolalvios even exists. A means to ensure that outsiders can impress even the stoutest and deadest of hearts—should we perform admirably enough. Then again, are there heights high enough for a Nord to impress the xenophobic asses that are the Telvanni elites?

I'd have to ascend to godhood. Maybe not even then.

**_8-8_**

**_End Chapter 5_**

**_8-8_**

* * *

**_A/N:_**


	6. Not the sanest path

**_From Talos, with Love_**

**_"With great power comes great responsibility. A shame they never mentioned a nocked arrow or a dagger dipped in poison, because I'm not taking responsibility for any of that."_**

**_Chapter 6—Not the sanest path_**

**_8-8_**

* * *

_7th of First Seed, 4E 200._

_Just over a week before the planting season begins. I've discussed my plans for Faldar's Tooth with Frey. He was most amused when I spoke of producing greef for trade with Solitude. Even more so in mentioning my plans to renovate the fort. _

_I expected resistance, or at best him demanding his cut. Instead, he demanded a specific cave be cleared out, fortified, and made to generate revenue. As if that wasn't strange enough, he demands I earn the title of Thane of the Rift, and that I train the bandits I captured._

_He wants an army. That's why he needs me. But he didn't know that beforehand. Why did he need me in the first place? It doesn't matter. _

_Sofie starts her training today. Dinya Balu assures me she won't need to take any vow to Mara, their cult, or their temple. The only vow she must take is that she only ever use her talents to save lives—something Sofie is all too willing to do. If my brunette offers her Restoration training half the energy she has been offering her Alchemy, I'm sure she'll do well._

_Ulen's still a stuttering mess, but he earns his keep. The manor is in pristine condition, and no meal has been late since his arrival. He even helps out in the garden—a boon if ever there was one, given how easily I tire these days._

_The three pester me more and more to rest, but there's so much to do. Rest will have to wait, at least for now._

**_8-8_**

* * *

"Ah, Serjo! I was hoping you'd stop by," Brand-Shei greets us as his stall's only patrons once again. Maybe it's because he's closing up for the day, but really I've never seen too many people at his stall, no matter what time we're here. "Your order came in this morning. Six crates in total. When would you like them delivered?"

"As soon as possible," Scarlet says, looking to me, just in case. "As well. We need to buy all the glass, straw, goat horns, leather, and leather strips you have."

"Hmm? Sound like Serjo is getting into homesteading."

"Renovating, actually. She now owns Faldar's Tooth, and we need to make it to her liking."

"You're…you must be joking." Brand-Shei takes a step back, his eyes wide and shoulders tense. "There's no way you four could take out those bandits alone!"

"The _four_ of us?" Scarlet looks to me, smirking with a cocked eyebrow. "Honestly, we were little more than decoration. Now, about those materials?" We take our time, discussing quantity and prices, and he agrees to deliver them with the rest of our order—payment on delivery, of course.

With that handled, we head over to Marise's stand for something yummy for dinner.

"Hold fast! In the name of the Jarl!" I turn, finding three Dunmeri surrounded by guards—the two women that helped me spread the word the other day, and there's a boy with them. Well, he looks to be in his mid- to late teens, but with an air of entitlement that tells me he's a major brat.

"We've done nothing wrong!" the boy claims. This could be interesting. No one's fool enough for a shake down in plain sight like this.

"Nothing wrong?" The guard sneers, his colleagues moving around to block the woman's escape paths. "Oh, then I suppose you slipped, fell, and your hand landed in that woman's coin purse."

Now let's see. The fine for that was always twenty-five septims. Not a lot, but more than most have on hand—and certainly more than those three would have.

"What say you in your defense?" Definitely not a shake down.

"I almost feel bad for her," Marise says, her tone hinting at the long borne annoyance with this scene. "Dunno what she was expecting, though."

"What do you mean?" Scarlet asks. "Can't they find work?"

"Oh, if only it were that simple. The ones in trouble are Shelth and her brother Nals. She's always in trouble and no one'll hire her for it. And he's too much her pet to do anything without her. The one with her is her girlfriend, Ane. Just started working at the fishery this morning, but I know that song. Shelth will spend all her coin on ale and paying fines, as usual. They can't even afford bed and board at the bunkhouse because of it."

"No. Three of you. That's seventy-five septims."

"Hey! Don't involve me in this! I was working at the fishery all day!"

"And the attempted pickpocketing happened to take place…at the fishery. Isn't that right, Dunmer?"

"You did what?!" Ane is beside herself, her balled fists trembling with anger. "Shelth you know I need this job! What do you think Bolli will do when he hears about this?!" Fire you. On the spot. Without pay, to boot. So that means you likely don't have money, and all three of you are sleeping behind bars.

"You worry about him after you pay the fines," the guard insists. "Or would you rather serve time rotting in the dungeon?"

There are some muttered words, nothing I can make sense of, but I assume they have enough for one or two of the fines and they're debating who's drawing the short straw.

"No! I'm not losing my job **and** going to jail for you!" Ane seems to be at the end of her rope.

"It's about time." Marise's relief is more than obvious, but I doubt this will go quite that smoothly. I look to Dovyn and Vilvyni, but they're already moving that way—I'm willing to bet one of them has a thing for this Ane, and given that one's current relationship…?

"Forget it!" Shelth draws her dagger, and her brother is quick to join her. "I'd rather die than—"

My chap'thil conjure daggers against the criminals' throats. I nudge Scarlet, letting her know to speak.

"Choose your next words carefully, fetcher," Scarlet says, staying by my side, just to be sure. There's a wave of surprised gasps—apparently, no one saw my people moving into position. "Or your death wish might well be granted."

"Even the n'wah is against us, huh, Nals."

"Seems that way. Well. It's not like we have anything to lose."

Scarlet looks to me, but I shake my head. If they're so eager to die, who am I to deny them? And calling me that name **certainly** tips the scales against them.

"No!" Ane turns to me, for some reason. "Serjo, please. Don't hurt them."

"We only aid in a lawful arrest," Scarlet soothes. "We have no stake in this, if they go quietly."

"That's where you're wrong." Shelth sounds amused. "If we go down, she goes down with us. Ain't that right, honeypot?"

Vilvyni bashes her pommel into the back of Shelth's skull—unconscious or dead, either way's fine—and she grabs Ane's wrist, dragging her over to me.

I smile. Figuring this out isn't difficult.

Dovyn comes right along, leaving another unconscious criminal behind. Well. I assume that one's unconscious. Don't care enough to check.

"What say you, guard? We apprehended the guilty parties for you. Will you allow this one to walk free?" Scarlet, you silver-tongued little sneak! Kyne, I'm glad to have you along!

"We appreciate your assistance, citizen. But the law is the law. She pays her fine, or she comes with us."

I nod, figuring as much. I fish out five of the larger coins, giving them to Vilvyni before she asks. My dear, sweet, gentlemanly Vilvyni strolls up to the guard with a spring in her step and Ane as arm candy, and pays the fine.

"Smart choice. Be sure to keep her outta trouble. And don't you worry about those two." Four guards come, grabbing the criminals by their hands and feet, lugging them off like sacks of potatoes. "The Jarl will hear of their resisting arrest, and your assistance in apprehending them."

I bow to the guard, turning back to Marise to buy our dinner. Sun's almost set, and Ulen will start getting antsy about getting the ingredients on time.

Why do I feel like eating saltrice? It should be delivered soon, but I'd rather plant them and grow more—for the saltrice dinners of tomorrow.

I must be missing Sylben's campfire meals. Or something.

**_8-8_**

* * *

We sit down to dinner, they thank Ulen for another meal, but I still don't talk around him. Still, I bow my head in silent thanks—he gets all flustered all the same. The food isn't anything spectacular, just baked potatoes, steamed leeks, and flame broiled venison. But it's all delicately seasoned, and tastes divine to a hungry tummy.

Ulen and Ane share a look, both nervous. Ulen isn't used to eating with his Serjo, he expressed as much and clearly isn't over the novelty of it. Ane I'm not so sure about. Maybe it's how we sit downstairs, in the meeting room, with two men dressed in thief's garb, along with us who are all dressed elegantly—even Ulen. I flatly refuse to allow any who would be loyal to me to wear anything trashy, so even fidgety Ulen is wearing fine robes fit for dining with the Jarl; no matter how he argues he should wear cook's clothes and hat.

A smile tugs at my lips, seeing even Frey's boys enjoying the simple, home-cooked meal.

Loud thuds. Someone's hammering at the front door. Ulen jumps to his feet, but freezes when I raise my hand. I motion downwards and he sits. The rapping at the door continues.

Does no one respect eating time? I stand, tapping Scarlet's and Dovyn's shoulder as I pass them, indicating they are to come with me. Unsurprisingly, Vilvyni comes without being prompted.

I shove the wooden barricade up, swinging it out of the way and jerk the door almost off its handle, only to find two guards standing there like they own the place.

I glare, licking the sauce off my fingers.

"The Jarl has summoned you. You're coming with us."

"It'll wait till morning," Scarlet says as she lays her hand on my shoulder to calm me down.

"No. You'll come now," the same guard demands, taking a step forward and reaching for me.

I conjure my bow, nocking an arrow. My chap'thil conjure their daggers, ready to dismember the fool.

"If you're here to order Serjo around, you should have come with an army," Scarlet warns, her tone as sour as the look on my face. "Either you explain what the Jarl wants, or you wait until we're good and ready."

"I don't—"

I draw and loose the arrow, its head buries in the wood between his feet with a thock.

"Why you—"

I nock another arrow, aiming for the speaker's face this time. His colleague grabs him and shakes his head.

"Please come at your earliest convenience, citizen." I loosen focus, letting the bow fade, and slam the damn door in their faces.

**_8-8_**

* * *

Four hours later, I storm in the Mistveil, presenting myself and my usual three before an empty throne. I cross my arms, tapping my finger against my biceps impatiently.

"Where is the Jarl?" Scarlet asks with an annoyed tone, as instructed.

"She's gone to bed, obviously," the housekarl says, eyeing us like we're a bug he's meant to squash.

"Then rouse her. She should be expecting us. We were summoned, after all."

"You were summoned four hours ago."

"Then you will understand why she should be informed immediately. Or is the reason of our summoning not worth being discussed with haste?"

"It'll wait till morning."

I snort, shaking my head.

"Ah, a logical stance. One your guards didn't take well to before threatening us. Now either summon her, or we assume the guards sent to pry us from our dinner table were assassins that need to be culled. Your call, housekarl."

"And which guards were those?"

"You don't know which were sent to us? Oh well. I guess we'll have to assume that every man wearing the uniform of your Jarl's army is possibly the guilty party. I wonder. How many will we cull because of your idiocy?"

"Watch your tongue!"

"Fetch your master, housekarl. Now."

"What's going on?" Law-Giver comes through a door from behind the throne. She's still in her usual outfit, so she likely just left to go to bed. "What's the meaning of this?"

"Jarl Law-Giver. You summoned us. Why?"

"We'll get to that. First I'll hear your reason for storming into my keep and threatening my men."

"Perhaps you should ask the guards you sent to summon Serjo, the one that ordered us to come at your bidding. And more importantly, the one that would not listen to reason when we agreed to come in the morning. So if our presence is so damned important, speak."

There's a long silence as Law-Giver walks to, and sits on, her throne.

"Unmid. Take your leave for the evening."

"But, My Jarl—"

"She responds poorly to threats, Unmid. Are you any different?" The pair of them exchange looks, no doubt an expansive conversation only possible when you've known someone for years.

"Very well, My Jarl. But at least let me station some guards."

"Serjo will not speak knowing a man will hear her," Scarlet says, her tone sour as she once again lays a hand on my arm to calm me down. "But she would not object to any number of women you station here."

"There, see. A peaceable agreement. You have five minutes to station whatever guards you wish, Unmid."

There's shouting and orders being dished out right and left. In just over a minute, two dozen women in full armor stand as if statues placed along the walls and supposedly blocking the door behind us. The housekarl gives us one last wilting glare as he fucks off with a huff.

"I am not your slave, Riftkhan." My tone is harsh as the winter's frost, my eyes not hiding a drop of my fury. "The next of your reavers to threaten me, will be sent back to you in pieces."

Vilvyni and Dovyn lay their hands on my shoulders, the gentle squeezes telling me to calm down.

"I assure you, Lady Reyda, my men will not dare repeat such an offence. And this one will be punished in accordance with the severity of his crime."

I sigh, biting back whatever my anger tries to slip past my lips. "Very well, Riftkhan. For what urgent matter did you send for me?"

"Maven Black-Briar. Her son and heir has been abducted. The ransom note says he's being held in a cave nearby. She has already provided the ransom, but I do **not** barter with bandits. I would have you go to the meeting tomorrow. Kill the bandits and return here with Hemming, and you'll not only receive the ransom, but a handsome reward from me as well."

"I'll need to know the location of this cave, time of the scheduled meeting, if there is one, and a description of Hemming, so we'll know who we're meant to save."

A guard walks up to Law-Giver, taking something from her. A money pouch. She comes to us, handing it to me. Scarlet takes it, checking it.

"Feels like three thousand." I nod.

"That's just the ransom. Do we have a deal, Lady Reyda?"

I nod.

"There is no set time. Only that it happen tomorrow morning. The cave is to the south-east, perhaps a three hour journey. You need to take the road east from the stables and follow it up between the hills. As soon as you start up the hillside path to the back of Riften, it's on your right. Maven has asked that Maul accompany you, so as to ensure Hemming return without a scratch."

"Have him meet at us at the gate for six. We leave with or without him."

I bow, turning to leave.

"Oh, Lady Reyda?"

I pause, but don't turn to her.

"Why is it you were in such a foul mood last time?"

"Someone in that place thought to control me." I walk, feeling my three follow me out.

Just as we're walking through the door, I hear Law-Giver muttering. "So ordering this one around is a death sentence. Interesting."

**_8-8_**

* * *

It's quarter to six when we stroll out of the gate. Maul is already here, wearing the same steel armors as before. He looks to be more brawn than brain, but he isn't my problem.

Maul's eyes narrow at the gleaming metal of our Elven boots, of Scarlet's full suit of Nordic armor, the Elven greatswords Dovyn and Vilvyni carry, but he says nothing.

We walk. Nothing gets said, and he seems focused on doing his masters' bidding. My people know the plan, so what more is there to say. Especially in front of an unknown, and a man to boot.

The air is crisp, given the early hour and that the ground is covered in snow again. The last snow of the season, I hope. Given a few of the trees are already sprouting leaves, I'd say it's a safe bet. There are some prints in the snow. Wolves by the look of it, maybe a pack of twelve. Chasing deer, too. Well, that's life for you. As long as they leave us be, they can hunt whatever they like.

We continue around Riften, and up the incline to the hilly backlands marking the southeastern border of Skyrim. From here, it's just over a day's travel to the border of Morrowind. Would be nice to go there someday, but I doubt they'd take well to me—even less so when they find out I'm dead-set on marrying Cylben.

I sniff the air. But nothing really stands out. I remember Cylben asking me why I sniff like some kind of wolf, but when he smelled the deer coming our way, he shut up right quick. They don't stink, exactly. But they have a scent you never forget. Wolves, bears, and trolls are much the same. You smell them before you see them, if you know what to look for.

"Smell anything, honey badger?"

I snap to Scarlet, finding laughing eyes smiling back at me. I shake my head, knowing she's just being her usual charming self.

"Hey, uh. Thanks, by the way." I look to her, narrowing my eyes. She shakes her elven warhammer. I smile for her, nodding.

The journey is uneventful, but being out in Kyne's nature sets me at ease, as usual. Even if it means looking over my shoulder ever few paces to ensure nothing's sneaking up on us.

A hawk screeches overhead. So they've already started coming back. There's just the one, but the great spring migration should happen any day now. Spring comes, the bane of farmhands across Nirn, and the boon of barkeeps who sell them ale and lends an ear to their simple woes.

I wish I could say I miss that life. But really, all I miss is Cylben.

**_8-8_**

* * *

"That's close enough!" Ah, bandits. Two stationed outside a rickety door in the hillside. This must be the place.

"We're here for Black-Briar," Scarlet says, holding up a coin pouch. "I trust he's in good health."

"He is. And he'll stay that way as long as you cooperate." I'm so scared.

"That's the plan. We have the coin. Let's see the goods."

"Not so fast! First I count the coin! Then you see Hemming."

"Yeah right. I'm not falling for that. I give you the pouch, you go inside to count it, and suddenly there's a backdoor you lot sneak out of. Then you demand more ransom when the coin runs low." She's good. I know she's acting, and I can't tell. "Either you bring him out, or we wash our hands of the situation and report that you killed him. We might even say we gave you the pouch, split the coin among ourselves."

The pair share a look. "There ain't no backdoor." So Plan A it is.

"And I'm half Khajiit. On my mother's side."

"How 'bout we let one o' you in. You can see Hemming, you give us the pouch, and everyone walks away happy." The bandit's eyes take us in, before landing on me. Predictable. "Like the brunette there. We promise, we won't even touch 'er."

I'm not offering you the same promise.

Dovyn and Vilvyni give me a look, their worries on display. I smile, nodding to them to show I'm not worried.

"Fine. But I'm keeping the coin until they're both back in one piece."

"Sure, sure. But Hemming ain't coming out till we get it."

I walk ahead, untying the strap of my knapsack and holding it open to show the contents—a change of clothes, an empty bowl, a clean towel, a washrag, and a small flask with lavender water.

The bandit checks the flask, before telling his co-corpse it's just flower water.

"Hey, boys! Got an unarmed woman coming in! She wants to help Hemming smell all nice for the trip home!"

I close the knapsack, walking up to the door. I enter the dank and dark cave, finding more cutpurses than candles to light the place. There are thirteen bandits. All with furred armors—typical. There's one with Nordic armor, the chief. He's up on a wooden deck, just at shoulder-height for me. He looks down on me, his tusks poking up and his dark skin looking menacing in the flickering candlelight.

Chief corpse orders one of the boys to show me to Black-Briar, and a chain with a ring handle is pulled. A false wall shifts and slides out of the way, revealing a hidden chamber. I walk inside, finding a table with a single candle affixed in a goat's horn on it. It gives me just enough light to see the telltale scar on Black-Briar's left cheek, and the impotent anger in his eyes. His wrists are bound above his head with a leather strip.

I set the knapsack on the table, taking the things out and unstopping the flask of lavender water. The room is unoccupied save for us two. There are is only a wooden wall against which he's bound, and a chair to one side. Nothing else.

The air is stale here, so no vents to the outside. The dust almost makes me want to sneeze, so it isn't a recent thing. There's no way out other than the way I came in. Good.

There's another chain. I pull on it, and the door closes. Excellent. No surprises.

I untie Black-Briar, moving out of the way when he 'falls' in my direction. He looks up, surprised—and no doubt disappointed he didn't get to cop a feel. I stab my finger at the knapsack, wordlessly telling him to check it for himself. If he decides not to freshen up, that's on him.

I pull the chain again, and the door opens. I walk back out, pulling the outer chain and let it close behind me. Everyone's gaze is on me. Some lusty, most simply curious.

Thirteen bandits. Two have two-handed weapons. Six have sword and shield, of which only one has the sword chained to himself. Four have a bow in hand. Only one has an arrow nocked. Two have the bow tied to their forearm—unless they have a tattoo, which I doubt.

The chief has dual axes. He'll be the bigger problem.

The closer three are sword and shields.

No spellswords.

They're dead.

I cast Telekinesis, jerking the shield from the closest one's forearm. I fling it at him with all my might, catching him off guard and throwing him back into his buddies.

I grab the bows next, leaving only the two with the bow strapped to his forearm armed.

"GaaaaAAAAAH!" The first two-hander comes rushing me. I tug his leg just before footfall, and he lands in a painful split. I tug his sword from his weakened grasp, flinging it at the only archer still with bow. He ducks, but his buddy behind him takes the blade to his face.

Arrow is nocked and drawn, he looses. I tug it right out of the air, conjuring my bow.

I nock, draw and sidestep, loosing the arrow right into his chest. Good. Archers are no longer an issue.

I nock, draw, and blaze three arrows in quick succession into the three that got bashed with the shield.

The chief comes, his war-grunt and stench drawing my attention before I even see him there.

I sidestep and mutely thank Kyne he overextended on the blow, sending him into the wall. I loose three arrows into the back of his leg, in his thigh where there's no steel. Hmm, one was a little off. Odd.

"We're routed! Fall back!" One of the cowards cries out, running for the exit. Six of them seem to agree, following suit. My people can handle them.

"She's only one!"

"Tell that to the last six guys she took out!"

I let my bow fade, casting telekinesis again for the two-hander coming at me. He takes one look at my glowing hands, and runs—no doubt deciding this isn't a fight he can win. I tug his foot all the same, letting him fall beside his co-victims.

I jerk the blade from his loosened grip, stabbing the tip in the dirt at my feet and leaning it against me. There are only four left now I consider a risk. The Orsimerii, two sword and shields, and a dagger-wielding Redguard with a crazed look in her eyes.

Hmm. I can manage this.

I rip the shield from one the closer of the two, and fling it at the Redguard. She ducks, and flies at me in a dead sprint. I tug her foot and she falls into a split. Only, her momentum isn't done with her.

The snapping of bones tells me she'll likely never use that leg again.

The thwang of bowstrings draw my eyes towards the exit, finding the two that couldn't decide if they trust attacking fall over, each with an arrow in their back.

"Ser!" My three come running. Another two thwangs, and the two-hander sports an arrow in each lung. Another two, and the Orsimer has one in his eye, the other in his throat.

Vilvyni comes right for me, checking me for injuries, while Scarlet and Dovyn go about decapitating every corpse to make sure they stay dead.

"You're not hurt, are you?" Vy's panic teases a smile from me. I shake my head, no. She still grabs my hands and checks me over, just to be sure. "Shit!" I narrow my eyes. A sharp pain in my leg.

Ah. An arrow hit me. I didn't know that.

The next thing I know, three potions are practically shoved down my throat and Vy carefully hoists me up onto her back and carries me out of the cave.

**_8-8_**

* * *

I'm not sure which is worse. That Scarlet keeps cursing my carelessness and swearing to learn some necromantic art or other to bring back the bitch that injured me, just so she can kill them again. Or that Dovyn and Vilvyni are too busy torching the corpses, after having pillaged everything not nailed down, of course.

On the one hand, Scarlet is quite graphic with what she'd like to do. On the other, those two are essentially torturing people—corpses, probably, but the scent of burnt flesh is still a bit much.

"Seriously, Serjo. We're not doing that again. You could have died!"

I cup her cheeks, smiling my brightest for her.

"I'm telling you, Hemming. That ain't a woman you wanna upset."

My smile inverts, my shoulders tense. Scarlet and I turn to find Black-Briar walking our way, a spring in his step.

"Hey, Dovyn! Vilvyni! Black-Briar's looking rapey!"

Howling tears out from the cave, and two ethereal wolves come flying out of door already broken off its hinges. Two avatars of death, a la Dunmer, come skulking out with greatswords drawn and death all but assured from the smoldering glare in their eyes.

I didn't know they learned to conjure a familiar.

With two ghostly wolves and three armed and pissed off warriors barring his path, Black-Briar chooses life and backs off. I should do something nice for my people—I can obviously count on them.

I murmur to Scarlet, "Do we have everything?"

"Yeah. Come on, let's go."

**_8-8_**

* * *

It's a tense journey back. The bears are more active with rising temperature, and they're hungry from hibernating. The trolls are irritable because one of their main competitors are awake and need to fight for hunting ground. And the wolves are knocked down a peg on the food chain—not something they take kindly to.

But in all this? It's Black-Briar's proximity to me that has everyone on edge. I don't get it. Trolls are much higher on the threat scale.

And why am I not allowed to carry the damn knapsack? No one had an issue with me carrying it on the way here.

Whatever.

Instead of worrying about that, I do my usual thing; sniffing and looking over my shoulder to check the footprints in the already melting snow, seeing what tales they tell me.

What do I do with those bandits? I mean. It's obvious we could use some skilled hands, but I don't trust them—then again, I started off not trusting these three. Hmm. Well, we have money enough to start really getting things done. We have enough people for some small projects. We have the weapons to properly arm them, and the spellbooks to start their training.

But what is my goal? Impress the Telvanni snobs isn't exactly a goal, it's a pipe dream. Becoming thane of the Rift isn't exactly a goal either, it's stated objective, given by a man I can't stand.

Hmm. I need to speak with my people. We need a proper direction, a clear goal, and to plan the most efficient path to getting there—or a path, at the very least.

For some reason, Marise pops into my mind. Well, not just her. Brand-Shei, Shelth, Nals, Engrien, La'Vaar. They yearn for something, something bigger than the hand life dealt them; a chance to not feel trapped.

What if we start a proper Dunmer settlement here? Truly start one. I mean, Cylben told me that things in Morrowind have settled since the Red Year, but nothing feels 'normal' there. Everyone's perpetually on edge, the certainty the Tribunal once offered has vanished. Blacklight was made capital city of Morrowind, but it's also the capital of Redoran land—a jab not lost on the other Great Houses, let alone the common folk who are under their yolk.

So what if we were to start a settlement here, free from that? Where being born outside of Morrowind doesn't make you lesser, where everyone has…

Okay, Reyda. Horseshit. You're not altruistic. So how about a more realistic approach? What if we were to start a settlement here, where no one tells me what to do or how to lead my life? Where the standing army's sole purpose is ensuring that no one comes in and tries to order me or mine around. Where the only goal is freedom.

Well. Freedom, and splitting the skulls of anyone that would take that from us.

**_8-8_**

* * *

Entering Mistveil Keep, I find the Law-Giver entertaining the Black-Briar matriarch. Unsurprising. She wishes to be here when news of her son arrives. The heir approaches his mother, with Maul right on his heels. Even as I approach, I can feel her anger rippling off her.

"I trust you slaughtered every last one of them?" the matriarch addresses Maul, for some reason.

"Didn't lift a finger. The half-elf did it for me." Maul tilts his head my way. Black-Briar's eyes snap to me, the calculating glint telling me I don't like whatever she's thinking. It would seem I am no longer a curiosity.

"It is done, My Jarl," Scarlet says as the four of us bow.

"Very good, Lady Reyda. As always, your work speaks volumes of your skill. Though, I am curious." I blink, wondering at the break in habit. "Your people are…possessively close to you. Did something happen?"

I snort, shaking my head even as I grin.

"It would seem Hemming has taken a fondness to Serjo. We simply wish her betrothed to have no cause for concern when they reunite. A stance Lady Black-Briar appreciates, I'm sure."

"Betrothed?" Black-Briar asks, cocking an eyebrow. I frown, tapping Scarlet's shoulder to interrupt.

"What Lady Black-Briar and her kin need know…is that romantic advances are undesired…and Serjo supports…our desire to keep…Hemming I assume? Ah, forgive me. Serjo supports our desire to keep **all** would-be suitors at spear's-length. Serjo is quite happy with Dovyn's and Vilvyni's reaction earlier, and would encourage them to act similarly in the future, heedless of offender."

Law-Giver looks curious, until Maul and the heir look uncomfortable—profoundly uncomfortable. Now all Law-Giver looks is amused.

"Ah, before I forget. Lady Reyda, as we agreed." Anuriel offers Scarlet a money pouch—we seem to have an abundance of them. "You have my thanks, and the thanks of the people of the Rift."

"It was our pleasure, My Jarl. Please, feel free to contact us if ever you need our assistance." We bow, turning to show we take our leave.

**_8-8_**

* * *

We approach the market, heading straight for Galvesu's stall. It isn't often we are in need of weapons or armor, but this has purpose.

The man himself smiles as he sees us coming. "Ah, Serjo. I was wondering when you were going to pay me a visit. Word is, you now own yourself a fort."

I smirk, but don't answer. His wares are sparse, to be honest. Some steel darts, steel throwing stars, and iron throwing knives. Some arrows and bolts too, though only iron. And three hunting bows. I motion to one of the bows.

"Feel free to test it. I assure you, my problem is a lack of material, not skill."

The weight is pretty standard for a short bow. I shift it and balance it on my index finger, finding the center of balance south of the physical center—just the way I like it. He lays a horse hair string on the stall top, so I quickly string it and draw without arrow to test her weight—feels to be between fifty and sixty pounds. Perfect for hunting in the Rift.

He offers me an arrow, pointing at the target set up against the building just behind his stall.

I nock, draw, and loose. The arrow buries itself in the dead center of the target. I nod, looking to Scarlet.

"Serjo wishes to inquire of your talents, sera," Scarlet says, her tone professional and polite, but not distant.

"I can replicate anything I've worked with. And I've worked with 'em all, Ser. Bonemold of the Three Houses." Of course a blacksmith would know there are only three variants, even though there are five Great Houses. And he carefully doesn't say which I would need. He's knowledgeable. "Chitin, netch, iron, steel, even ebony. And I work with the styles of Dwemer, Dunmer, and Nord. Don't touch the Altmer stuff, though. Not if I can help it."

I nod, grinning at the jab.

"Wife's a clothier. Son works leather if you prefer that, but he's a better bowyer and fletcher. He made the bow and arrow."

That simplifies things. I turn to Scarlet.

"If it helps, Serjo?" I cock an eyebrow, wondering at the uncertainty in the man. "I have three nephews. They're no good at smithing, but their pickaxe is never dull. And my sister's a spellsword. Keeps us fed even in these hard times."

I murmur to Scarlet. "Serjo is happy to hear this, and invites you to her fort so that we may discuss agreeable terms of your employment."

"When?"

I murmur to Scarlet. "We leave tomorrow at eight. It's about an hour's travel. And we'll be back in time for dinner. Lunch will be provided."

"We travel under armed guard?" he asks, sounding almost hopeful.

"Serjo deserves no less. But you may return without us if you prefer."

"Serjo, if I may?" I blink again, wondering at the clear distance he places between us—socially, at least. Physical distance is appreciated. "My nephews. They ache to feel a sword in their hands again."

I murmur to Scarlet. "Join us for dinner. Tonight. Serjo insists."

**_8-8_**

* * *

"I don't know why you're being stubborn about this." I roll my eyes, ignoring Scarlet. We've been shopping most of the morning and afternoon, and all I feel is the usual tiredness that plagues me lately. There's no reason to see a healer for injuries that are clearly not acting up.

"Really, Ser. Would it kill you to sit and rest? I'm not even arguing that you go back to the manor, just sit in the cart. That's all." I don't even react, walking towards the gate to go see a man about a horse.

The guards at the gate are snippy, but they don't react with overt negativity. We head to the left, over to the stables. A Redguard man tends to the horses, washing the ashy gray one furthest to the right.

"Ah, the famous Reydaserjo Marise is always on about," the man greets us, dipping his washrag into the bucket of what smells like watered down vinegar. "What brings you out to the stables?"

"We are in need of a horse. Preferably with a proper wagon, though we'd settle for a cart."

"You don't say." He sounds amused. "You have someone to tend to your horse?"

"We were hoping to hire them until we do," Scarlet says, looking to me. She suspects something, the curious glint in her eyes tells me as much. "After all, we as yet have no proper stable built."

"Ooh. Yeah. Hofgrir won't sell to anyone that doesn't have the means to groom his horses. Well, alright. It's five septims a day for the horse, and they need to be brought back before dusk. Longer trips means you need to hire me as well. And I'll need to know in advance how long, how far, and what route we take. The cart is two septims a day, and the wagon is five."

"Three blessings, Serjo!" I snap to the speaker, finding a Thalmor gaggle ushering a rags-wearing Bosmerii. I sneer, grateful they're still some twenty paces from us.

"Quiet!" One of the Thalmor guards bashes his fist into the Bosmerii's face, dropping the man to his knee. He grabs the Bosmerii's arm and jerks him back to his feet and shoves him into a walking rhythm again.

One of the Justiciars turns to us, spying our focus on their group. "Thalmor business, citizen."

The stable hand sighs. "They've been arresting people since I got here. Dunno what they did wrong, or where they're being take, but no one ever sees them again."

I look to Dovyn and Vilvyni, offering them my most vindictive and smug smirk, my eyes dancing with a dark joy they've never seen from me.

They nod, the look in their eyes matching mine perfectly. Without a word, they stroll off into the encroaching darkness.

I turn my focus back to the stable hand—my chap'thil know what to do, and they won't fail me. Not with this small a group and the wilderness to mask them.

"So. If we were to buy the horse and wagon?" Scarlet continues the conversation, ignoring the man's questioning gaze following Dovyn and Vilvyni.

"Depends. It's a thousand per horse. And we have two types of wagon, a one- and a two-horse. The two-horse is the fancy one. It's a proper coach. Seating for eight inside. Storage space on top and in the back. Room in front for the driver and two armed guards. And two standing spots on the back for guards as well."

"Sounds ideal." Scarlet looks around. "But it doesn't look like it's here. I assume you'd need to build it?"

"Naturally. Or does Reydaserjo not desire the best?"

I shrug, not really caring. I need it to carry heavy things long distances. "For now, we'll need a sturdy wagon. We have the bags and chests, but we're talking at least a ton of carrying capacity."

"Ah, homesteading, eh?"

"Renovating. You know Faldar's Tooth?"

"The fort across the lake. Bandits have been raiding the countryside from there."

"That's in the past. It's Serjo's now." Screams fill the air—not very manly screams either, so they aren't engaging in combat so much as they are being slaughtered. The screaming dies down as quickly as it started up. "She doesn't take well to scum. So I wouldn't bet on bandits or their ilk being a problem."

The last of the screams—half unintelligible begging, half abject horror pouring out of someone's face—stills mid-syllable.

"And Serjo is nothing if not efficient." I nod, agreeing. Those fools didn't even get a spell casted. If that isn't efficient, nothing is.

"And. How does this. Apply to those in Reydaserjo's. Employ?"

The Bosmerii comes walking our way, his hands still bound but pride in his gait and vindication in his eyes. He comes right to me, stopping a pace and a half away.

"Aren't you Engrien?" Scarlet asks. I blink, looking at the Bosmerii much closer. He grins, his eyes twinkling with delight. Ah, yeah, that's Engrien's shit-eating grin. "Aren't you supposed to be watching the fort?"

"Forgive me, Serjo," Engrien takes the knee, the grin only widening. "I was out hunting when they found me. They snapped my bow, so I was all but useless."

I motion for him to stand, but he only looks up at me. I motion again, but he only offers his bound wrists. That isn't what I mean, Bosmerii.

"Bosmer tradition, Serjo. Only the one that frees me from my binds is worth serving. Your nightblades sent me to you."

Hmm. I murmur to Scarlet. "And what does this entail, Bosmeri?"

"No, you stretch the I. A double I with races and peoples indicates singular thereof."

"Ah, apologies, Serjo. What does that entail, Bosmerii?" I nod, approving of the improved pronunciation.

"That I am yours to command. As long as I do not chafe under your yolk, my loyalty will always lie with you."

Scarlet and I share a look. She shrugs, showing she isn't sold. I murmur to her, "Winolalvios."

"Dunmer tradition. Until further notice, she isn't to touch or even speak to a man that will not serve her muthsera until death. So we're at an impasse."

"Oh, no. We're in full agreement," Engrien says, standing and jerking his hands apart. The binds fall apart, but the tear is too clean for it to be by anything but a blade. "I had to be sure this isn't an act." He bows so low it's a wonder he doesn't fall over.

"What do you mean?" That's a good question, Scarlet. What does he mean?

"I was merely curious if Dovyn knew his Serjo as well as he claims." I cock an eyebrow, wondering what Engrien's getting at. "Please understand. Nobility, especially Dunmer nobility, would have me killed for being captured by the enemy."

I shrug, unsure what to make of that. Killing your people for screwing up? That's pointless.

Then again. Who's to say the enemy wouldn't have turned them, and they conspire against you with the enemy that let them go? There are those who would do anything to get a plant in their enemy's camp, even if it means losing a few good men.

I murmur to Scarlet. She chuckles, her eyes lighting up with impish delight. "Serjo says that your history with the Thalmor is armor enough. But failing that? Dovyn would speak of your whole history to Serjo's muthsera."

Engrien baulks, his eyes swimming with fear. "A valid point. I'll be sure to never give him reason to doubt my loyalty." You do that.

**_8-8_**

**_End Chapter 6_**

**_8-8_**

* * *

**_A/N: Hmm. ^_^_**


	7. I will stand, with or without you

**_From Talos, with Love_**

**_"With great power comes great responsibility. A shame they never mentioned a nocked arrow or a dagger dipped in poison, because I'm not taking responsibility for any of that."_**

**_Chapter 7—I will stand, with or without you_**

**_8-8_**

* * *

I press my fork into the goat meat, cutting it slow and steady to make the least fuss of it. Another long day is almost behind me, and I find myself aching to hug my pillow and sleep. Perhaps Scarlet is right, I should rest more during the day. So much to do, so little time.

Once the last of the meal is eaten, the tea is drunk, and the dishes are cleared away, I turn my full attention to my guests.

The three young men jump to their feet, moving behind their mother and stand at attention. They wear simple miners' outfits and carry pickaxes, but they are no more miners than I. They were soldiers, or at the very least well trained spellswords.

Gelvesu's wife and two children follow suit, standing behind the blacksmith. Curious, that. Especially since the younger is Sofie's age.

I look to Ulen, he nods and excuses himself. He's back but a moment later with a knapsack, unpacking three Nordic carved cuirasses and laying them on the table. He excuses himself again, coming back with three Elven swords, three Elven bows, and three quivers with Elven arrows.

"Please forgive Serjo, she has as yet acquired little variety. Should Mister Gelvesu agree to serve Serjo, we would, of course, provide far more suitable materials that you may be armed and armored as is deemed necessary," Ulen says, his tone calm and even.

"Boys. Wait outside." The woman is all business, her eyes hard and calculating. "You, too, little brother. I need to speak to her."

"You are permitted to take the armor and weapons. They are a gift." Ulen turns to me. "Will there be anything else, Ser?"

I smile for him, shaking my head no. He bows low, seeing himself out of the meeting room. The men head out into the courtyard, and even Frey's boys are kind enough to wait outside. Curious, that—almost as curious as the supposed miners leaving the armor and weapons on the table.

When both doors swing closed, I cast Detect Life, scanning the room to ensure no one else is here. There are only Dovyn, Vilvyni, Scarlet, and Ane—not sure what to make of the woman, but she seems to enjoy being near Vy.

"Forgive my rudeness, sera. I am Reyda, betrothed and currently under winolalvios. I trust you understand the constraints this places me under."

"I know enough." She crosses her arms under her bust, her eyes studying me, dissecting me. "I am Mehra Alvos. I was a soldier in Morrowind's militia during the Oblivion Crisis, now spellsword for hire. And I have questions."

"Speak freely."

"You're a Nord." I clutch my hand to my chest, acting hurt. Her eyes narrow and her lips purse—she doesn't enjoy my humour just now. "Why are you pretending to be Dunmer nobility?"

I raise my hand, stopping my chap'thil from conjuring their weapons to carve the woman a new breathing hole.

Curiously, the blacksmith's wife looks about ready to pass out and her daughter isn't doing any better.

"Blunt. To the point. Something tells me you are a spellsword for hire because you chafe under the patronage of nobility." I smile, finding humour where there should be none. Mehra snorts, but doesn't deny it. "You aren't Velothii and the common folk would know nothing of winolalvios. I will not press for answers I myself cannot give, but know that I can tell of your House and your lowborn status."

Mehra sighs, uncrossing her arms and laying her hands on the table.

"I bear no love for that house, which you are well aware of. But I also have no intention of holding their sins against you or your family."

Mehra shifts in her seat, leaning forward and laying her elbows on the table, her fingers interlocking. Her sister-in-law is too busy trying to reel in her jaw, so I don't doubt my 'act' is starting to come over as so much more.

"Now. Should you agree to serve me, you would be captain of the guard. Your duties would include training the men, assigning duties, organizing the patrols, and reporting all suspicious behaviour to me. Their training would be comparable to spellswords in that they would learn Destruction spells and one-handed blades. It would differ in that I demand they learn Conjuration and Mysticism as well."

"What of Restoration?" Mehra asks, leaning slight more forward.

"Covered. I have Sofie learning that and she's been aiding me in making potions."

"Serjo?" I look to Ane, wondering at the hope in her eyes and pleading in her tone. "Would. You consider having me trained…in Restoration and Alchemy?"

"Your training begins tonight. You'll be given alchemy theory to start you off. Impress me, and we'll discuss your training in Restoration spells." I pretend not to notice Ane's joyous squeal and her happy dance. "More importantly, Mehra. You need to understand that I start from scratch. I have no aid from my house, and we are therefore starting from nothing. So many of my men come from walks of life you would ordinarily shoot on sight."

"You didn't kill the bandits in Faldar's Tooth." Mehra isn't guessing, and the slight upwards curl in her lips hint she doesn't disapprove. "Mostly Nords, I assume."

"Twenty six Nords, three Redguards. I also have Engrien, a Bosmerii, and La'Vaar, a Khajiitii. Their loyalties are questionable at best, but after this afternoon, I should think Engrien is less apt to strike out on his own."

Mehra snorts. "So that's how you acquired Altmeri weapons. And the armour, they are from bandits you've…had dealings with?"

My feral grin is all the answer she needs.

"I see." Mehra's eyes dart back and forth, no doubt trying to assimilate all she's learned. "I would serve you, Serjo. Under three conditions."

"Namely?"

"Permission to take my boys to Blacklight or Raven Rock, to find them each a wife."

Redoran territory? Well. It's not as if I'd agree to Hlaalu wives. I nod.

"I'll not have anyone under my command wearing Altmeri armours."

"Ew." I give her a disgusted look to accentuate my stance.

"One can never be too sure." I nod, conceding her point. "And lastly. Permission to acquire Dunmeri…_recruits_, while seeking daughters-in-law."

"Aw, come on!" Scarlet complains. "We don't have enough Dunmeris speakers around here?"

I laugh, quite enjoying her annoyance. "Just for curiosity's sake. You were part of the Camonna Tong?"

"My husband was. Until they found out he was born in Raven's Rock."

Yeah. Xenophobia at its worst.

"Serjo?" I turn to Vilvyni. "Solstheim is considered Morrowind."

"It is," I agree. "After Skyrim's high king offered it, which was after the Red Year. Given Mehra was a soldier during the Oblivion Crisis, do you think her husband was born before or after Solstheim was Morrowind territory?"

Vilvyni winces, conceding my point.

With that out of the way, what are we looking at here? Mehra's had dealings with the Camonna, that means slavery isn't against her moral code. That she's aiming to get Dunmeri slaves under her command reinforces this. She understands I hail from House Telvanni, and that I would have my people trained accordingly. And more importantly, she wishes to lay roots under my command—she wouldn't ask for her sons to be married off if she wasn't planning on sticking around.

All in all, quite agreeable. I just need her to see that I am in charge, which one trip into a Reaver camp should provide quite nicely.

"Your terms are agreeable, but I feel it wise to warn you. I will not _appreciate_ any dealings with any organization, unless you have my express permission for it." My tone is colder than winter's bitter chill. Mehra nods, almost as if a mini bow, but she meets my gaze without hesitation. Hmm, she's cautious, but isn't quite cowed yet. "Understand, Mehra. This is a deal out of convenience, not desperation."

She nods, clearly missing the signs.

"Let me be crystal clear, spellsword. I have enough to worry about. A fort to renovate, business ventures to start up, bandits to cajole into my service. The last thing I need is keeping you under surveillance."

"And the last thing I need is some young upstart thinking my loyalty is to anything but the coin I need for my family. In fact, I have a sweet deal on the table up in Windhelm. Four thousand drakes to kill a troll."

I snort, shaking my head. "That all?" That brings Mehra up short. "If you're so near-sighted that you think four grand will do anything for you, then I shouldn't waste my time on you."

Her eyes narrow, her jaw squares.

"You get the coin, then what? You buy materials, buy armour, buy this or that. Coin runs out eventually. That's why you're in this situation, isn't it?"

She looks towards the door, obviously hating how close I hit to home.

"I won't lie. What I offer has less short term gain. But unless your contacts will ensure you have a safety net for your boys to start their families?"

"What. Are you getting at?"

"That I understand you and what you hope to achieve. Serve me and your family will never go without. But I do not tolerate disloyalty. If you do not swear by your ancestors that you would be loyal wholly and solely to me, then you should better walk away. Now."

"So, what? I swear that me and mine work for you. Then what? You send us to our deaths when it suits you?" She clasps her hands, balled tight as a stone knot.

"I am Dunmerii by betrothal, but I am Nord by upbringing," I remind her. From the twitch in her lip, I can tell she needs more than that to work with.

"Perhaps you do not understand the situation you find yourself in." Mehra slaps her sheathed blade onto the table, no doubt fully intending to set my chap'thil on edge. "You're quite right. I have little of material value. But what I have is a particular set of skills, forged and tempered in the heat of countless battles that ravaged the homeland. Skills that make me the monster that goes bump in the night."

I shake my head. Why do people like doing things the hard way? "Yips from a fox surrounded by bears." I cast Telekinesis, opening the door from where I sit. "You are more than welcome to walk away. But I will not provide for any whose loyalty I question, let alone train them."

Mehra sits there, her eyes dart back and forth as she weighs her options. Morrowind has no future for her. Skyrim has been torn by civil war for the last two decades. And all she can hope for out there are odd jobs. She knows she's screwed if she walks away, especially given I offer her the position of head of the guard and the concessions she already got out of me.

But she'll bark one last time. She has to, her pride and her survival instincts won't allow anything else.

"Very well, Reydaserjo. I swear by my ancestors that my family and I will serve you and only you, provided we are not treated as battle fodder or as slaves. We will never serve a disloyal master, understand this well."

Good. Now let's see if this news travels back to Frey, and then we'll know if his boys are really all that loyal to him.

"Then we are in perfect agreement. Meet us by the gate tomorrow. We'll show you around the fort. Plans will be discussed after."

**_8-8_**

* * *

Frey comes at the stroke of midnight. I suspected he would. I listen carefully to the updates his boys give him—they speak only of a blacksmith and his family that came calling. Either they don't know, which I doubt, or their loyalty to Frey wanes.

He comes traipsing up the stairs and enters our bedroom without knocking, leaving the doors wide open as he stands in the doorway. He casts his attention about the room, finding Sofie and Ane studying on my bed, Dovyn and Vilvyni taking turns Telekinetically pickpocketing each other, and Scarlet standing by my side.

"Maven grows curious of you." The dancing tongues of flame in the hearth are far more entertaining than his misplaced pride. My hands rest on the arms of chair, no tension at all in me. "It's time to give her something to gawk at. Forget the cave. You are to focus all your attention into Faldar's Tooth. You will install an alchemy lab, an arcane enchanter, and a smelter. You will scout the area to secure ore, clay, and stone. And you will station four guards here. Two in front, two in back."

Hmm. Is that the in I need to get things done?

"That would require a trip to Raven Rock. I'll need bonemold armours to mask them entirely, so no one will know their identity or their race."

He doesn't answer, not immediately. I don't look to him, but I can almost feel him mentally chewing on that.

"You get nine days total, including travel time. You leave in two days. Sofie stays here."

"As you wish." Will that be enough? Nine days… I don't know how long it takes to get there, or how much it'll cost. I'll have to make do.

**_8-8_**

* * *

I stand on the first terrace as the bandits are paraded out into sunlight for the first time since I took over. They still wear those dreadful fur armours that screams I'm-a-bandit, and they smell like they haven't bathed in weeks. In fact, three of the women have menstrual blood dried on their legs. This is… sad. Even for bandits, this is unacceptable.

I lean to Scarlet, wanting to handle this quickly. "Listen up! Serjo has a onetime offer! Either you serve her wholly and solely! Or you go back into your cell and rot away until you forget what sunlight feels like on your skin! You have one minute to decide!"

"Say I serve you!" The Redguard woman speaks up, her arms bound as the rest of them—one of those with blood on her legs. "What's in it for me?"

"For fodder like you? Not dying is all you can hope for," Scarlet sneers. "But for those who would master the spells Mehra Alvos would teach you?! You would be spellswords worthy of Serjo's crest! And that means you'll be part of an army unlike anything Skyrim has ever seen!"

The Redguard woman steps forward, coming straight to me. Her hands glow with a fire spell, burning her cloth binds right off her. She doesn't meet my gaze and stops just more than a pace from me, taking the knee.

"My name is Jayrana. I specialize in Destruction spells. Fire element. All I ask in return is to see my wife and kids again."

I blink. I murmur to Scarlet. "Where are they?"

"In Whiterun. My wife works as farmhand just outside the capital." Not too far, and definitely not a promise I can't keep.

I murmur to Scarlet again. "Serjo will offer you better. Complete your training, and they would be welcomed here as citizens." Jayrana looks up, her eyes wide. "Provided you accept your bandit days are behind you. Can't have people thinking Serjo employs riffraff, now can we."

I take the first of the steel swords, holding the tip between thumb and forefinger, and resting the spine against the back of my other hand to keep the blade horizontal. I offer it to Jayrana.

Jayrana looks at the sword, eyes wide, before she winces and looks like she bit into something sour—likely remembering how easily I bested their whole gang.

"My Lady, I…" She shakes her head, her brown eyes looking up at me at last. "Be true to your word, and I will be the most loyal soldier you'll ever find. With Ruptga as my witness, I swear it."

"Then we shouldn't have a problem, soldier." Scarlet offers her a bag filled with a clean change of clothes, a towel, and washrag. She points off to the lowest tower. "Proceed to first tower. You may wash and change there. Return here for bunk assignment and duties."

Four of the men come before Jayrana even has the chance to stand, pleading for the same. They admit none of them know any spells, but for the chance to live with their families again…?

Mehra's gaze is on me the whole time. She can't figure me out. And she isn't meant to, not yet.

When the last of the willing offers herself to me, we wait almost five minutes. No one else steps forward. By my count we have eleven recruits, better than I hoped for. The other twenty are marched right back into the fort, back to their cells.

They won't be given a second chance.

Mehra's sons start working the boys in, showing them some basic stances, but Mehra herself comes to me. "So we have the beginnings of your guard."

"Mm. I leave for Raven Rock tomorrow. You're to come with me." Her eyes go wide, but she reigns in her surprise quickly. "I'll need a list of materials Gelvesu will need. I want our soldiers wearing bonemold armour. And speak to your sister-in-law, see what she needs to start producing clothing. I already have tundra cotton and plans for leather. Anything else, she'll need to let me know."

**_8-8_**

* * *

People coming: Dovyn, Vilvyni, Scarlet, Ane, Mehra, and myself. We have twelve knapsacks, most filled with empty sacks for ash and whatever other ingredients we might happen across while there. We have twelve bedrolls, just in case. We have four shovels, to gather the ash we'll need. We have jerked meats, salted fish, and enough water to last a week—we can always restock in either Windhelm or Raven Rock.

We have changes of clothes. We have washrags and towels. We have extra gloves and boots. I have a few books to read…Hmm.

"Scarlet. Take a thousand septims. Go to Wylandriah and buy as many spellsbooks as we can use. But nothing necromantic—makes me skin crawl."

"Sure."

"Take Dovyn with you. I think Vy and Ane are…they need a minute."

"They're just talking."

I look over at the pair of them. Vy has her feet pointing towards Ane and is gesturing wildly as she recounts some tale or other. Ane keeps laughing and swatting Vy and touching her upper arm, and continuously hooks stray hairs behind her ear. That isn't _just_ talking.

"They're flirting. You're not interrupting them. Now shoo. And take Gelsevu's list to Brand-Shei. Ask him to talk to his suppliers, see if he can order anything on it, but be sure to specify we're only inquiring for now."

**_8-8_**

* * *

This is quite the deal. Twenty septims to take us all from Riften to Windhelm. Sure, the average worker in the Rift makes that in a month, but still! All we need to do is sit in the wagon and the horse does all the work! Not even Scarlet found something to complain about with this setup!

So everyone's just sitting around, reading the spellbooks Scarlet bought. Well, other than Ane, she's reading another alchemy theory book from my stash.

As for me? I'm casting Telekinesis and plucking every ingredient I can find. Nirnroots, canis roots, mountain flowers, tundra cotton, creeper clusters, even some fungi now and again. It's too early for butterflies, and those silly birds haven't done their mass migration north yet. Ooh! Snowberries!

All in all, not an interesting leg of the journey.

**_8-8_**

* * *

The howling winds and scathing chill in the air makes me think we just jumped into a frozen lake. It's snowing like there's no tomorrow, and frankly it's pissing me off!

Still, Scarlet and Mehra thank the wagon driver, and we head off to the ginormous stone bridge that he says leads to Windhelm.

Just the approximation to Wilhelm makes my skin crawl every time I think about it.

There's a river at the bottom of the canyon below, and what looks like a harbour on the city side. That's where we need to be. There isn't anyone else on the bridge, save some guards that keep giving my people baleful glares, and they keep showing us their blue shields with a stylized bear growling on it. What's that about?

"You're not tired are you, Ser?"

I groan, but don't comment. We managed nearly a day and a half in a wagon without that damned question. Ten minutes walking over a bridge and she starts right back up.

We make it to the oversized gates of Windhelm, and the guards give us a funny look. Scarlet asks if there's a problem, but he waves it off and opens the gate for us—mentioning something about 'the grey quarter', for some reason.

Inside the city isn't much better than the bridge—it's all snow in my eyes, so screw it. We make our way passed some way, through this way, and down those stairs… Mehra seems to know the way, good on her.

But something catches my eye. A bump where there should only be smooth stone. Sure, there were some uneven spots, and even chips that show the age of the stonework. But nothing so large as to make me wonder if a person is under there.

A small person, but still a person.

I cast Detect Life, and sure enough, the area glows blue. I walk right up to it, seeing the grey of wolf fur speckled with the white of snow. With a quick jerk, the fur flies off to reveal two children huddled together to keep each other warm.

"Why are you out in the snow?" The words fly off my tongue before I even check if any men are around that might hear me. "You should be inside by the hearth."

There's a long silence, filled by two aching hearts being covered by the falling snow. "Could we have our furs back?"

"Are you going to head home or not?" I demand, trying to sound more concerned than upset—anger is steadily winning out, though.

"You need a home for that."

"Get up." They don't move. "Come on, up. I'll not have you freezing to death." I hand the furs to Vilvyni, grabbing the girls' hands and tugging them up onto their feet. They both fight it, arguing that they only want to lay down and sleep—has hypothermia set in? No, they aren't shivering at all.

I tug them both to me, letting them wrap their arms around me. Vy and Scarlet each dig out a jacket and wrap the girls in them, and we head down the stairs again, two companions richer.

Mehra leads us towards a large vessel, easily sixty feet long, and we walk right onto it. She starts up a shouting match with one of the sailors, each trying to make themselves heard by the other, inquiring how much to set sail for Solstheim.

"Two-fifty and we set sail immediately!" comes the verdict. Scarlet fishes out some coin and pays the man. "Welcome aboard the Nothern Maiden! Name's Gjalund Salt-Sage! And me and my crew are at your service!"

"Is there somewhere we can warm up!"

"Birkin! Show our passengers to their cabin! And tell Yngmer I hate it when he's right!"

**_8-8_**

* * *

I sigh in relief when the door behind us shuts. The cabin isn't spacious, doubly so considering we have eight people in here, but it's well-lit, and we aren't being blinded by snow—I'd say that's a win.

Ane and I rush as best we can to peel the two girls off me. The girl I'm tending to, the second her gloves come off, I check her fingers for any sign of hypothermia, but all I see is ashen skin, if a bit darker than usual.

I tug her along, over to the lower bunk, and plop her onto it. Vy is kind enough to come over and hang the wolf furs we took from them from them on the frame, giving us some privacy. I strip the now shivering child down, and bury us both under the furs. Ane comes but a second later with the other girl, and we huddle them between us as we strip down ourselves.

Though they feel as ice against me, I can't bring myself to care. They need warmth, and I have it to offer.

It takes no effort to coax her to lie atop me, and even less for her to lay her head on my chest. After one last, long shuddering, she sighs and buries her nose between my breasts. Ane has hers laying her ear against her chest, no doubt listening to the steady heartbeat on offer.

"Why were you outside in that?" I demand, finding my fingers running through silver hair. "You could have…" I can't even bring myself to say it, so I hug the steadily warming little body closer and plant a kiss on her crown.

The world lurches, we've set sail.

The steady rocking becomes steadily more pronounced, but it isn't too bad, I suppose. Maybe I'm just more focused on the warm moisture spilling down my chest.

"Shhhh shhh shh shhhhh." I hug her tight, kissing her brow and crown over and over to let her know she's perfectly safe right where she is. "It's alright. You're alright. We won't let anything happen to you, I swear on my ancestors."

A sniffled sigh is all I get for my troubles, at first. Her legs drape over my sides and her hands snake up almost into my armpits. Not sure what that's about, but at least she carries the warmth of life now, instead of the human icicle I half dragged in here.

My fingers steadily work through the knots in her hair until there is nothing but lush silver caressing my digits on each pass through.

"What's your name, muhrjul?" I don't know what it is, but even to me my voice has never sounded this tender, this soft and nurturing.

She shifts and turns until little red eyes peer up at me. I smile warmer than summer's midday sun, teasing a little unsure tug at her lips.

"Muhri kol flur, muhrjul. Be at peace, child. You are safe," I soothe, cupping her cheek and kissing between her delicate silver eyebrows. "Tell me your name?"

"Galsa," is all she says, laying right back down and pressing her ear against my chest.

"Well, Galsa. I'm Reyda. Are you feeling a bit better?" She nods, sighing and curling up against me.

"And what about you? What's your name?" Ane asks her girl.

"Ta…Talare."

**_8-8_**

* * *

The silhouette of Solstheim looms in the distance up ahead. I know, without looking, that Skyrim lies behind me. Somehow this moment summarizes my life all too well, smack dab between Morrowind and Skyrim—between Nord and Dunmer.

I rest my hands on the rail of the ship's bow, heaving a sigh that drains me. Not two months ago I'd never left Ivarstead, and here I find myself leaving Skyrim for the first time, leading Dunmeri as if I was born among them.

The gods have a sense of humour I utterly fail to grasp. Or perhaps it's just Sheogorath—he'd be laughing his princely ass off at this. Dovyn and Vilvyni have taken to shadowing my every step. Scarlet would, too, but she's too busy discussing things with Mehra and what's-his-face, the captain.

And now, I find myself with two new charges. Two Dunmeri children left to freeze in a snowstorm. Galsa and Talare. I don't know their tale. Not where they're from, not where their families are. Nothing. They look too dissimilar to be related by blood. Galsa with her silver hair and puffy cheeks, and Talare with blood red hair and angular features. All they have in common is that they don't speak much.

Galsa wiggles herself under my arm to get in front of me and lays her hands on the railing beside mine. She stares out into the distance for a long moment, but I can't tell what she's looking at or what she's thinking. Her neck length hair flutters in the salty air, somehow painting her as melancholy. It's as if she's been cast adrift, with no port to call home.

Neither she nor Talare asked where we're going. Neither seems to care. They don't talk much, if at all, only answering our questions with one or two words—or a nod, if they can help it.

Galsa turns to me, gazing up with blank, red eyes. Her arms worm around my middle and she heaves a sigh.

I look over my shoulder, spying Ane and Talare taking turns losing their breakfast into the open seas. Vy's doing all she can to hold back their hair and sooth them. Dovyn is a few paces back from them, his shoulders quaking with silent laughter. Vy keeps shooting him scathing glances, but that only seems to add to his amusement.

Figuring they can handle their battle all on their own, I turn my attention back to the sight before me, once again idly combing my fingers through silvery hair.

Where are you, Cylben?

**_8-8_**

* * *

After two full days of sailing, the Northern Maiden docks in Raven Rock, Solstheim. We disembark while Mehra and Scarlet discuss the exact date and time the captain intends to sail back—two days, with the morning tide.

We're offered bed and board on the ship, but Ane begs that we find a tavern, almost sending Dovyn into a cackle fit—Vy's murderous glare quiets him.

"Come," Mehra says, no doubt trying to steer us away from the siblings getting into another squabble. "We make for Morvayn Manor, to inform the First Councilor of our arrival."

We barely take two steps before an important-looking Dunmerii comes strolling our way.

"Ah, Mehra Alvos. It's been some years, sera. What brings you to Raven…" His gaze swipes over our group, how Dovyn and Vilvyni put themselves between me and the stranger getting too close for comfort. How Scarlet takes up the rear. How Ane and the girls stay close to me. For some reason, this one's eyes linger on me. "This isn't a social call."

"We were just heading to the manor to introduce ourselves." Mehra turns to me, eyeing how my people position themselves around me. "Serjo. Please meet Adril Arano, Second Councilor of Raven Rock, and the First Councilor's right hand man."

I bow, my eyes flicking to Galsa and Talare and Ane. Galsa doesn't bow, so I put my hand on her head and nudge her—she bows without a fuss, but her eyes turn questioning as to why that was needed.

"Second Councilor, please meet Reydaserjo. Forgive her silence, she…"

"I suspected as much," Arano admits, nodding gravely. "Do bear in mind you are in Redoran territory, Serjo. Your muthsera's house holds no sway here."

I nod, taking Galsa's hand and walking ahead. Arano is accommodating enough to step to one side, to not risk touching me by mistake—oh the conveniences of being amongst the Dunmeri, they understand the old ways with barely a glance. If Cylben comes through here, he'll no doubt hear I've been here, that means he'll have a trail to follow.

We make our way up the dock and onto the ashen soil of Raven Rock. The streets are littered with stone buildings, some built in a more dynastic style, but most have only a single room above ground, only their distance hinting at the subterranean expanses.

There are scathecraw and ash yams and trama root growing wild on almost every corner, not a flower to be seen among the greys of stone and ash. The guards patrol the port town, wearing their traditional House Redoran bonemold armours, the bright amber reminding me of the sun glaring through the haze.

I was almost ill prepared for this, seeing so many Dunmeri in one place. Let alone seeing almost only Dunmeri here. Riften has a thriving population, of course, but the vast majority is still Nords. Here, it seems, Scarlet and I are the only Nords to be found.

The housewives tend to their sparse gardens to either side of their shack's front door. The children are scolded for doing this or not doing that. The men make their way to an unmarked building in the distance with one guard stationed beside the sole entrance—I'd bet my last septim that's the tavern. All of them are Dunmeri. It's no wonder Cylben spoke so fondly of his time here, even with this being House Redoran's.

The sun is low on the horizon. Night will come swiftly, I should think.

Mehra leads us to a building on the left, before we reach the marketplace just shutting up for the day. The red banner boldly displaying Redoran's scarab tells me this is the First Councilor's home, without fail. Though the guard standing watch beside the door doesn't hurt.

Without knocking, Mehra pushes the door and enters, she holds it open as Scarlet enters next. I follow, with the others close on my heels.

The room isn't spacious, not by any means, but there's a throne room of sorts to the left, with three Redoran banners on display, the middle of which is right behind a chair. First Councilor, no doubt.

I walk up to him, keeping five paces between us, and I bow. As I right myself, I find Galsa finishing the same motion. I smile when she looks nervously at me, and she visibly relaxes.

"First Councilor Llerin Morvayn, may I present Reydaserjo, Baroness of Faldar's Tooth and currently under winolalvios." Mehra's voice booms in the tiny space, but it's the sense of pride swelling in her that speaks loudest. She resists me at every junction, but she cannot deny her elation at being part of something great again.

"Hmm." Morvayn gives me a once over, before his eyes spy my people taking their stance behind me. "It is an honour to meet you, Ser. On behalf of House Redoran and as Councilor of Raven Rock, I bid you welcome to our fair port town, and welcome to my home."

Scarlet comes up beside me, leaning in to make it easy for me. "We are most grateful, My Lord. Allow me to assure you. That we come with no intention. To hinder your people or to stir trouble of any sort. We are in fact here. To purchase and gather supplies. And perhaps with hopes of future trade. Should this please to you."

"Yes, I suspected as much. If I might inquire. This…Faldar's Tooth. I've not heard of it." He's testing us.

"Surely, sera does not presume to inquire into matters of which we may not speak?" Scarlet says the words, but there's a curiosity in her tone that shows she isn't quite informed of the more obscure details I'm subject to.

Morvayn strokes his armrest, his eyes studying me intently. "Very well, ser. Might it not be too invasive to inquire your starting point, then?" He wants to know how screwed I was to begin with. After all, one as learned in Dunmeri politics as him would identify which house we hail from without fail. So he'd know just how…welcoming they would be to a Nord bride-to-be.

I hold up my right hand, all five fingers extended to show 'nothing in hand', meaning zero.

"Would you believe me if I said I was surprised?"

I laugh, shaking my head, no.

"How long will you be staying?"

I murmur to Scarlet. "The Nothern Maiden sets sail in two days, First Councilor. We hope to have our business settled by then."

"So swiftly? Pray tell, what do you hope to achieve by then?"

"If you don't mind, First Councilor?" Mehra steps forward, but waits for Morvayn to motion to her. "We are here to hire a handful of miners and craftsmen for an as yet undetermined timespan. Reydaserjo desires to renovate her humble abode into a style befitting her muthsera's heritage."

"Always the impatient one, Mehra Alvos. How little I've missed your presence." Morvayn's words cut into her, effortlessly forcing her to step back and stand down. "Please, ser. I know you would not come all this way for something as simplistic as this. You would have sent her out on her own. What are you really here to achieve?"

My cheeks glow as I force myself not to look away.

"I see. You toe the line, ser. Do you believe you've already fulfilled your quest?"

I murmur to Scarlet. "Far from it."

"Hmm?" He leans back into his seat, gripping his jawline as he ponders the pieces he's given, and the puzzle they hint at.

If I am Baroness, Lady of holdings and servants, and claim I am far from my endgame? That means I'm here for so much more than sending a message to House Telvanni—or even hinting to my muthsera where I am, though it's plainly obvious I wouldn't object to him finding me sooner rather than later. I'm here to shout from the mountaintops that they shouldn't dare lose sight of me—a message he himself would be fool to ignore.

And that is exactly what I want him to understand. Because even if House Telvanni never accepts Cylben and I, I will never go away. Ten birds, one stone.

"As it so happens, many jobs were lost when the mine dried up." He's already figured out what he thinks he's to understand. Whether we're on the same page remains to be seen, but that's his problem. "I would…or perhaps I should say, I could not object to you hiring them. Though, I am curious, Ser. What do you hope to offer up for trade?"

I murmur to Scarlet. "At present, we have little to offer. Within a year, Serjo will have a very different answer to that same question."

"Ambitious." He sounds almost impressed. "Very well. While you are here, ser, there is a matter in which I believe you might be of help. One which might greatly benefit us both."

I briefly cock an eyebrow, a knowing smile gracing my lips.

"Reavers beset this frontier, as you no doubt suspect." His eyes twinkle when my smile turns smirk. "We of Raven Rock would not dare complain if they were to…_subject_ _themselves_ to your service?"

I bow, knowing full-well he and his wouldn't mind if I bring each and every reaver into their town in chains, especially if it means they'll become my slaves.

"Then we are in full agreement as to the agenda you wish to adhere to. For every reaver camp you empty, I assure you there will be a fitting reward awaiting you here. Tell me, ser. Would you prefer coin, or armour sets?"

"Definitely armour sets." Scarlet doesn't even wait for me to murmur, knowing full-well what we're here to achieve. "Bonemold preferably, though a few light chitin sets would also be appreciated."

"Of course. We could provide you with a map and the exact location of five camps, if you desire?" I grin. Ten birds, one stone.

**_8-8_**

* * *

This isn't the kind of place you leave your non-combatants in town and head out. This is the kind of place where the wilds and the city are both equally dangerous, and letting your guard down in either would prove fatal. With this in mind, we head south with all our people tagging along—even Galsa and Talare.

Well, Mehra said she prefers to stay in Raven Rock to start propositioning miners to work for me—and there's still the daughter-in-law hunting she's doing. Still, time is limited so best to strike while the iron's hot.

All I smell out here is ash. Mile after mile and hill after hill of ash, mixing in the most excruciating ways with the salt in the air. Luckily, the first camp is but an hour south, but still. It's no wonder Dunmeri like armours that keep every inch covered. The stench is enough to make me retch when two days at sea barely fazed me.

Waves lap against the ashy shores, lashing us with salty breaths on almost frozen air. But it's the scratching, the low and high pitched chattering further inland that sets me on edge.

We aren't alone.

A problem now compounded by a sole Redoran guard walking towards us.

"Greetings, citizen. Why are you out here at this time of night?" He looks to Dovyn for answers, no matter that my group all look to me. He isn't just socially unaware, he's utterly uninformed. If he's a Redoran guard, then I'm next in line for High Queen.

Adding the steel greatsword and the lack of arrows? Come on, he isn't even trying.

I cast Detect Life, finding his and a dozen others' red life-forces glowing in the pale moonlight.

They are moving in, using the uneven terrain to hide from sight and surround us. The tactic isn't bad, exactly. It isn't even poorly executed. It's just that they don't realize I'm aware—lack of spell knowledge, being my guess.

Another interesting note, is the collection of blue energy behind the speaker and just off the coast. It would seem we've already found the first camp, stowed in shipwreck.

I step forward, my smile friendly and utterly disarming. "You're Velothi. Reavers from the look of it. Your accent tells me you've only recently learned the common tongue. You are here with ten others, give or take. You move silent and efficient, but the clank of bonemold armour should be more noticeable. To add insult to injury, Redoran guards wouldn't be caught dead with steel weapons, let alone without their shield."

The helmet droops slightly. He coils, readying himself to pounce.

"Now listen well, as I will say this only once. You've heard me speak. That means you have two choices. Either you embrace your chains with dignity, or you die and leave your wives and children defenceless." Their combined growls sound like little more than puppies about to wet themselves. I cast Telekinesis, ready for their first move. "And be warned, I will take them in chains regardless. The only question, is whether you will be with them under my thumb."

"Molag B—"

I grab that one by the throat, his curse choked and clinging to his tongue.

The sound of screeching fills the night. An unholy wailing that barely hints at the madness contained within the fractured mind crying out.

"Aradra…" The guard-impersonator turns his back to me, facing the faint glow of fire magicka heading towards the beached shipwreck I barely make out just up the coast.

Aradra…Ash death.

It would seem these hills hide more than reavers and wildlife.

"Fridayir iklami en muhrjuli!" And just like that, each of the reavers reveal themselves in a mad dash towards the rolling thunder and walking flame made flesh. The huff of spellflame tells me the assault on their base has begun.

_Must protect women and children?_ They left no one on guard! Idiots!

"Scarlet! Ane and the girls are your responsibility! Keep them safe! Vy! Dovyn! With me! Haul ass!"

I conjure my bow, nock and arrow and let it fly into the night. The dim glow arcs towards the fiery effigy, striking it in the foot—slight incline, got it.

I nock another, ignore the angered cries, correct for elevation, and loose. This time the arc ends right in its skull. Another is nocked and loosed, quickly followed by three more.

The first falls, its anguished and demonic cry tearing through the night and right through me. If I never hear that sound again, it'll be too soon.

A shame there are four more of those…things. Aradra indeed.

Vy and Dov are at my sides. They conjure their bows and together we rain death down upon the Aradra—whatever they are. Even at a hundred paces, we keep their attention on us, and away from the high-pitched screams and cries for help from the wreck.

When the last of them falls, I breathe easier. This is why I love my archery. If it can't get near you, there's nothing you need to worry a—

"ALMA!"

That came from behind us.

Galsa!

"Serjo!"

I dash back their way, the clicking sound from earlier coming from every direction around us. I conjure a dagger and ready Detect Life.

There's a faint glimmer in the dark, rushing Scarlet. It's almost too dark to see.

I cast Detect Life, my vision filled with almost nothing but red—the blue of my people almost being drowned out.

I jump onto some slippery thing, burying my dagger into some part of it, and dash on ahead. Did I run this far from them? I don't remember.

Vy makes it to them ahead of me, firing off spellflame and lighting the night for us all. I nod, liking this much more.

I conjure my bow and loose arrow after arrow into anything that isn't mine to protect, flying into the night towards the burning ash surrounding my baby.

Her cries spur me on, pushing me no matter the odds I face.

"Alma!"

"Alma!"

By the time I arrive at Galsa's side, I've emptied my quiver. I drop the bow, my will and mind so sharp I could cut through Oblivion itself. I take the fiery need to guard her and pour all of it into my Conjure Flame Atronach spell, tongues of flame licking off my gloves.

The fire whips off each hand, taking physical form as the atronachs are ripped from the planes of Oblivion. My will pierces our connection, flooding them with one thought: protect Galsa.

"Alma fredann ohuhn," I murmur, taking Galsa into my arms. _Mother will protect you. _"Hold fast, don't let me go."

"I won't. I won't let alma go." Her arms wrap around my shoulders, her legs around my waist, and she holds on with all her might, trembling like a leaf in a storm.

I conjure my bow, grabbing Ane with my free hand and jerking her behind me where I can protect them—she holds Talare as tight as Talare holds her, so they'll be fine.

With a fresh and full quiver, I start shooting at anything that moves once again. Only this time, there are three flame and two frost atronachs joining the fray.

The night burns with our wrath, and the ash under our feet glows in our wake.

With Vy dual-wielding her spellflame, and Dovyn throwing dagger after dagger, and Scarlet grabbing everything in reach and ripping its head clean off, and me raining arrows like falling stars.

It isn't long before nothing around us moves, though it feels like forever's come and gone.

I drop my bow, casting Detect Life, but all I see is the blue of my people, and the faint blue of the band of reavers we ended up saving twice over.

"You came for me." Galsa sounds shocked to her core, but the tears streaming down my neck hint this is much deeper. "Alma came for me. You came for me."

"Muhri kol flur, muhrjul. Be at peace, child. You are safe," I soothe, hugging her. All I get out of her is unintelligible, half-formed words and she bawls her heart out.

"Yeah. Can we not do that again?" Vy sounds exasperated beyond words, holding Ane and Talare close to her.

Well. To be fair, we weren't planning to fight on three fronts. One of which we still need to sort out. The s'wits.

"Well, Hlakili." Did Dovyn just call her 'little red'? "These ash hoppers aren't nailed down. Let's get to it."

**_8-8_**

**_End Chapter 7_**

**_8-8_**

* * *

**_A/N: I have quite a bit already written out, but I'm unsure if this is hitting all the right notes. Lemme know what you guys think.  
_**


	8. Thief-Khan

**_From Talos, with Love_**

**_"With great power comes great responsibility. A shame they never mentioned a nocked arrow or a dagger dipped in poison, because I'm not taking responsibility for any of that."_**

**_Chapter 8—Thief-Khan_**

**_8-8_**

* * *

"Filthy ash hoppers," I curse under my breath, unstopping a flask and bringing it to Galsa's lips. "Drink."

She sniffs the neck of the flask make a disgusted face. Still, she drinks it empty. A Cure Disease should solve any unpredictable problems, so I grab her hands and check every inch of her. Legs, back, front, neck, face. I even run my fingers through her hair, looking for anything out of place.

I find nothing, but I unstop a flask of regeneration all the same and have her drink it empty—better paranoid than sorry.

"Alma! Those things didn't even come near me!" Talare complains, getting much the same treatment from Ane and Vy. I can't tell which of the two is inspecting the little girl closer.

Lady Luck was kind to us tonight. So what say we don't tempt her to change her mind during this trip?

I stuff the empty flasks back into my satchel, to refill later, and take Galsa into my arms again. She's all too willing to hold me and never let me go, so it works out for both of us.

"Those things. The aradra. They would have burned your home to the ground," I say, standing with Galsa clinging to me. "And the ash hoppers. They would have killed your reavers before you even got close."

I turn to the Velothi gathered on the wreck's upper deck. Children cling to their mothers, and mothers—pregnant or otherwise—gather their babies, young and old, to them. The reavers make a clear line between me and their noncombatants, but really they know they have no hope of defeating us. Not when my people defeated everything that would have killed them to a man.

"So, let's cut right to the chase. When I leave, odds are, whatever is out there that wants you dead will come back. And they will not fail a second time."

The children burst into tears, only to be held a little tighter by their families. The women, they hide it well, but their fear is just as evident to me.

"So who among you will accept me as your new khan? Who will come with me to a new home where the ash doesn't choke you in your sleep? Who would give themselves and their children to me, to mold you into something greater than you are now?"

I stand and wait.

No one moves.

"As you wish. Three blessings upon you. You'll need them." I turn. "Come. I'm tired, and it's a long walk b—"

"Take me with you!" The first caves before I take three steps. "Please, Silvarkhan! My children and I! We'll serve you! Anything you wish!"

Silvarkhan? Star-khan? Of all the…

"Pack only what you cannot live without. All else will be provided," I say, taking another step. The night is filled with a flurry of motion. Footfalls on hollowed wood, shouts to 'grab that'. Bags are clutched, bedrolls packed, food stowed.

There isn't a woman here that even considers not leaving with me, it would seem. Ten mothers, each with at least one child, though on average three—the majority of which are already of age. Good. Now I just need to get them to Faldar's Tooth in one piece, and I'll have the people I need to truly start working my way up in the world.

And once I have my people grow strong, Frey. You will know the fear you instilled in me that night.

**_8-8_**

* * *

We make it back to Raven Rock without incident, though the guards are leery and deny us entrance—or deny the new faces, but to me that's the same. Still, when none of my people draw steel, they agree to summon Morvayn.

On his arrival, he only stares with low-hanging jaw. His eyes take in the group I brought. The children, the packs they all carry, the men who seem quite nervous and leery of his guards.

"By the way. You had quite the ash hopper infestation," Scarlet informs him. She doesn't at all sound smug—not in the least. "And there were some weird ash things we were attacked by as well. They call them the 'ash death'?"

That makes even the guards nervous. Though their armors cover everything, their shoulders slacken and droop slightly, and they look to one another as if to confirm they truly hear what is being said.

"I'm beginning to see why you only need two days," Morvayn eventually manages. "Guards. These are Reydaserjo's people. They are to be treated with the same respect as all citizens of Raven Rock, do I make myself clear?"

I bow as well as I can, but Galsa still refuses to not hold me, so the best I can do is nod. We're let in without issue this time, though the Second Councilor—what's-his-face that sort of greeted us by the dock earlier—stares with distrust in his eyes. He isn't important, not to me, so forget him.

I lead my people down to the dock, and address the captain directly. Well, Scarlet does. "Captain Salt-Sage. Would it be acceptable if our people were to rest on your ship until departure?"

"Well." The man eyes the size of the group, and the clear bandit signs. "Provided you pay passage and keep them outta trouble? Shouldn't be a problem."

Scarlet fishes out another two-hundred and fifty septims, paying the man on the spot. We're led to the same cabin as before, and we pour into it.

We start organizing. Everyone unpacks bedrolls, and soft lullabies are sung to settle the children down for the night. The women keep to one side, away from the men—I'm not sure why, but I have my suspicions. The children, even the older ones, all keep close to the woman I suspect is their mother.

Dovyn and Vy come to me. But only she whispers. "We have more camps to clear out. We'll handle it, if Scarlet and Ane don't leave your side."

"I don't want you two going without me."

"And neither of us wants Ane and the girls going," she counters. I sigh, conceding her point. "We need this, Ser. Trust that we'll come back to you in good health."

"Take my satchel." I practically shove it into her hand, the rattling of flasks almost being drowned out by the surrounding din. "And tuck your girls in before you go."

She pulls back, her cheeks decidedly red as she turns to look at Ane and Talare settling into a single bedroll at the foot of the bunks. She can deny it all she wants—to me, to Dovyn, even to herself—but she wants those two to be hers, for life.

With a nod, my chap'thiil does as I ask.

**_8-8_**

* * *

I lie in bed, but I do not sleep. It's only a matter of time before one of the boys is dumb enough to pull a stunt. Suspicious and perhaps paranoid of me, but I'm not dying for any fool's ambition.

A sword unsheathes. I kick my legs off the bunk and sit up, facing him. His eyes are wide, but quickly narrow as he squares his jaw. I conjure my bow and nock an arrow, aiming for the fool halfway between me and the boys—all sleep save us two.

"What are you doing?" I ask, my tone sickeningly sweet. He moves to sheathe, but I draw and loose the arrow, burying the head deep into his thigh.

He suffers the pain in silence, but that isn't what this is about. I nock another arrow.

"Wake the boys," I order. He tries pulling out the arrow instead. "Do it, or I loose another arrow."

The poor fool stumbles and drags his leg over to the boys, kicking them to wake them. There's some grumbling, until they see the ethereal arrow still stuck in the idiot's leg.

"What have you done?" Each in turn asks the scapegoat only this question, over and over. The questioner then looks to me, finding me sitting in my bunk and facing them with a blank face. They eye the bow and the nocked arrow.

Once the nine are awakened and facing me, I turn my attention to the scapegoat. "Explain to them what you've done and why. Lie, and you get another arrow."

He stutters through his words, but he tells them he planned on killing me, Ane, and Scarlet, and taking our coin and our things so he could be the new kahn. Shortsighted, arrogant. But mostly predictable—and that will cost him.

"Good. Now all of you will go without your weapons. And you have this n'wah to thank for it." I loosen my focus on the bow, cast Telekinesis, and disarm all of them, setting their weapons into the knapsack I had ready and waiting for this moment.

The boys glare at the fool, their anger and disappointment more potent than days-long lectures condensed into mere seconds.

Once the last of the weapons are stowed, I continue with the dressing-down. "Now, wake your wife."

The fool drops to his knees, begging and pleading for anything but that. I only conjure my bow and nock an arrow.

"It's alright, Silvarkhan," a voice tears through the silent room, cutting into the fool deeper than the arrow. "I do not sleep, but I am his wife no longer. No one fool enough to attack our khan will share my bed. Nor will he father or raise my children."

The pain in his thigh is no doubt nothing compared to this. His own people turn against him, his wife disowns him. And thus, the example is set.

As if that isn't enough, the woman wakes her children, all four of them. And she painstakingly explains to them what the scapegoat has done, and how 'Silvarkhan' is rightly upset with him for it. The eldest, a man about my age, comes to me, stopping well outside my comfort zone—not even nearing Ane and Talare where they sleep—and he takes the knee.

"Silvarkhan. You are rightly upset with this man. Please. Allow me to cleanse my family's honor with his blood."

"No need. He is of your family no longer. His sins do not stain your standing, your honor, or your future," I say, leaving nothing to interpretation. I stand and pick up the greatsword the fool would have slain me with, if he could.

I walk to the warrior that sees the new hierarchy and accepts it.

"As proof of your family's honor, accept this sword, and guard your family well." I offer the sheathed blade. He reaches up, accepts his family's blade, and taps the wooden floor with the tip as if to draw the attention of their watching ancestors to bear witness that he is now the rightful head of his family. "Know that come morning, I may no longer speak in your presence. Not for the exile's deeds, but rather because I see you as a man. Until reunited, I may speak before no man that would not serve my muthsera unto death."

"Then I will be that man. I swear on my ancestors, I will serve your beloved to my last breath." His mother's eyes shine with pride, as do his younger siblings'.

A second and third come, his sisters, no doubt. They appear about the same age, perhaps seventeen or eighteen. "Silvarkhan." They take the knee beside their brother.

"I will not observe more vows this night," I cut them off before they begin. "Warrior. You will mind the exile. When my chap'thil return, you will explain to them what he's done. Vilvyni will decide his fate."

The siblings nod. The eldest moves to the scapegoat, grabbing the arrow still very much stuck in his thigh, and using it to move him against the far wall, near the door. With that done, the sisters sit beside Ane's bedroll, one to the foot the other to the head, and they hold vigil.

Their mother and I share a look—she's nervous her daughters toe the line, but proud of her children all the same. I nod to show I'm in no way upset and she relaxes, hugging her youngest, a boy perhaps six years old.

I dig out two swords in sheath, handing them to the sisters with a nod. They nod in thanks, sharing a look. There's a wordless exchange between them, before they settle in, sitting cross-legged with the sword lain in their lap.

No one will be fool enough to try something again. Not tonight, at least.

**_8-8_**

* * *

Vilvyni and Dovyn return just in time for breakfast. The first of my warriors painstakingly explains every detail to Vy, including how the exile would have killed Ane and me if successful.

Vy comes to me, laying a full knapsack at my feet and murmuring in my ear. "We cleared out three of the camps. We have enough chitin armor to suit everyone up, and enough Elven blades and bows to arm them."

"No injuries?"

"None, Ser. I want to bring him with us on our next hunt. He might be just what we need."

"That's your call to make. I'm fine with it. But he isn't to return."

She nods, her eyes lit up with what seems like vindication.

"Have you reported progress to the councilor?"

She nods. "The bonemold armours are in the bag. Four full sets, including shield."

"Good. Eat and rest. Ane slept poorly, so you two can cuddle up if you want. I have things to handle, I'll take Scarlet with me."

"We can rest on the way back."

"Ane needs her rest. And she'll rest easier with you here."

"She'll rest easier with both of us here."

"She can also hear you both perfectly fine," Ane chimes in, smiling as she tears a piece of her bread and hands it to Talare. "We leave tomorrow. I can manage until then."

Vilvyni sighs, not liking it but unwilling to argue.

"Come, Vilvyni. You and Talare need to eat." Ane beckons to my chap'thiil, no doubt wanting them to eat together.

But curiously, my first warrior, he stands beside Dovyn, the pair of them in a heated—if whispered—debate. His two sisters sit near Ane and Vy, eating and drinking quietly, their eyes darting back and forth, as if scanning their own people for plausible threats.

Interesting.

Dovyn comes to me, offering an apothecary satchel. He leans in, murmuring into my ear, "We spotted Mehra. She seemed annoyed. Likely no takers. How do you wish to handle that?"

"You and Vy need to focus on your task. Let me worry about Mehra." He nods, moving over to his sister and accepting the simple breakfast Ane offers him.

I break another piece of my bread, offering it to Galsa. She takes it, slinks into my lap, and lays her head against my chest.

Life keeps changing on me. Sigh. Best not to worry about it.

**_8-8_**

* * *

My warriors, men and women alike. They stand before me, their spines ramrod straight, their shoulders tucked back. Of the fifty-two Velothi I claimed as my own, fifteen are without child of their own and of the right age to be properly trained. Not bad, all things considered.

I hold the final bow, offering it to my warrior as reverently as the situation dictates. She accepts it, bowing low before moving back to line-up alongside her fellows.

"This day," I begin, my eyes roaming over the ten chitin-clad archers and the five bonemold-clad and shield-bearing tanks. Each of them is covered from head to toe, showing no skin whatsoever. "This day, your training truly begins. You are now our warriors. You are now tasked with guarding our people."

Though nothing changes visually, I can almost feel the pride of my warriors, the pride of their families.

"This day, you offer yourselves to me to make you more than you once were. You will have many teachers. You will have many spells and skills to master. You have a long road before you." Galsa comes running, wrapping her arms around my leg. I pick her up, kissing her brow and holding her close to me. "May you always remember this day as the day you make your ancestors proud. And may wealth beyond measure be ever within your grasp."

The families cheer, their voices filling our cabin, filling our warriors with the hopes and dreams of a bright future.

There's a knock at the door, but the din doesn't ebb. Vy and Dovyn enter, each carrying two full knapsacks of yet more loot.

Two non-combatants come, accepting their burdens and start organizing our things there. Ane starts dishing out orders—the produce goes in that sack, the weapons into this chest, the armours into that chest—all the while holding a grumpy Talare in her arms.

"Ane. You're in charge while we're out. Start teaching our warriors the basics. Conjuration, Bound Dagger and Bound Bow."

"Understood," she murmurs, asking Talare to bring her the bag with books, and to be careful because it's heavy.

"Vy. Dovyn. Scarlet. You're coming with me. It's time to see what Mehra's been up to."

**_8-8_**

* * *

Down the dozens of stairs, into the underbelly of the tavern; retching netch, strangest name ever.

The sun has already set, so the townsfolk are here in droves, hoping to drown their woes in greef—or whatever their poison is. Mehra is talking to someone by the bar, a woman, but the closed posture and how she has her body turned away from Mehra, it's clear that isn't going anywhere positive.

Disappointed but not yet deterred, Mehra heads over to a table of miners, the six of them sip and offer no more than one or two word answers.

She isn't getting anywhere, because she isn't a people person, or maybe her past works against her.

I walk over to the bar, nodding politely to the barkeep. "Good evening, sera," Scarlet says, bobbing her head. "How's the greef flowing?"

The barkeep, a Dunmerii with faded red hair and a stern look, sighs and shakes his head. "About the same as ever."

One bottle to a table, and everyone sips to make their drink last longer. Purses are too tight for them to truly enjoy their evening.

"Looks to me like everyone's purse is too tight to get drunk," Scarlet says, looking to me to see what I want to do.

"Mehra. How unpleasant to see you! It hasn't been nearly long enough, fetcher!" The whole tavern is filled with laughter and jeers aimed at the head of my guard. That just won't do.

I tap Scarlet's shoulder and we walk over to Mehra and the rude little shit talking down to her.

Mehra's eyes go wide when she spots us, her grey cheeks flushing and her lips pulled tight. "Serjo, I—"

My raised hand quiets her, though all the tavern's patrons go equally silent.

Scarlet comes to my side, leaning in.

"Serjo would hear why insulting the head of her guard is acceptable." Scarlet's voice reverberates through the spacious, subterranean room.

A full minute goes by, the silence growing more and more oppressive with each second.

"Serjo comes with the offer of work and paid passage for you and your families. With the promise of shelter and three square meals a day for you and your families, even if only one of you were to work for her. And this is how you treat Serjo's messenger?"

Most shift in their seats, staring at their drinks.

"Make no mistake. If you were to agree to work for Reydaserjo, you would depend on Mehra Alvos and her sons for your protection. They are the ones in charge of training our spellswords, of safeguarding our people. And frankly, Mehra has earned more of Serjo's trust than every other person in this tavern combined."

Vy elbows me, her eyebrow cocked.

"Other than her chap'thil and myself, of course," Scarlet conveys my words, laughter in her voice. "So. Heedless of what may have been relayed before now. We have need for only four miners, two carpenters, and four stonemasons. You will have to convince Mehra why she should risk her life and the lives of her sons to guard you while in Serjo's employ. And be quick about it. Passage has been booked for first light. And we have no issue leaving without hiring so much as one of you."

With my message properly communicated, I turn and walk right back out, my chap'thil and Scarlet hot on my heels.

As my foot lands on the top stair, "Hey, Mehra! Let me buy you a drink!"

"Your son, is he single? My daughter's quite the beauty, you know!" I smirk, shaking my head.

**_8-8_**

* * *

"Halt, blacksmith," Scarlet says, motioning for everyone to calm down. The idiot Breton just stormed onto the ship after us, calling out that he needs a word with me. Needless to say, no one took well to his presence or his being so familiar with me.

Every warrior has either a blade unsheathed or an arrow nocked. And my chap'thil have both conjured their daggers, ready to carve the fool a new breathing hole. More interesting, is how Scarlet stands right in the Breton's way. How she balls her fists around the haft of her warhammer, ready to cave in a skull or two.

All non-combatants visibly relax, even the ten families Mehra just barely brought on board. The sailors don't look impressed, but most shrug it off and get back to what they were doing.

"State your business." Scarlet's words are backed by every spellsword-in-training under my command. The night does little to dampen or hide the animosity.

"Glover Mallory's the name," he says, taking a healthy step back and putting his hands up. "I'm the only blacksmith worth a damn in Raven Rock. And I—"

"We have a blacksmith," Scarlet cuts him off.

"That ain't what this is about." Mallory seems annoyed, but really. What was he expecting? "We produce top notch netch leather and chitin plates. I'm aiming to setup a trade agreement."

Scarlet comes to me.

It's an interesting offer, to be sure. But now isn't the time for promises. "Send his offer to Riften."

"Serjo appreciates your offer, but is tired from travel and her duties. Please, if you truly are interested in trade, send your offer to—"

I walk off, knowing he'll get the totality of my message, just as I know he'll be shown off the ship. Besides. It'd be nice to just curl up in bed with Galsa.

**_8-8_**

* * *

Lying in bed, under the pelts. Vilvyni, Ane, Talare, Galsa, and me, curled up into a tussle of arms going every which way. A cabin fit for four, filled with nearly a hundred. Not to mention the loot and the dozens of bags filled with ash Ane sent a few of our warriors out to collect.

It should feel stifling, constricting in the worst way. All I really care about is Galsa's gentle snoring, and how Dovyn and Scarlet make themselves right at home to my bedside, ready to guard me from everyone.

Tired as I am, sleep just won't come. The rocking has gotten more noticeable in the last minutes. We've launched—or whatever you call leaving port on a boat.

Cylben will come looking for me—I know he will. I just need to make sure there are clues for him to find. Raven Rock has clues. I'll need to figure out a way for Windhelm to have a clue or two as well. Maybe a trip to Blacklight?

_Sigh_. What I wouldn't give for him to find me.

"Can't sleep?" Vy keeps her voice down, but I hear the concern all the same.

I shake my head, no.

"You're thinking about him."

I nod, tears welling up in my eyes.

"He's the real reason we came to Solstheim?"

I nod. No point in denying it. No matter what else I accomplished…

"So. Next trip is Blacklight, huh."

My shoulders and chest shiver, no matter how I hold back my laughter.

"I was thinking." She snakes an arm around me, tugging me so I lay my head on her shoulder. "Since Ane wants to study Restoration? Would you be okay with taking her as your Healer?"

"Hmm." I smile, letting her hear that I like the idea and nodding anyway.

"I'll make arrangements for her when we get back."

I nod, agreeing that she should.

"I… may have pestered Scarlet to get mostly Restoration spells… maybe."

I giggle, shaking my head. "Good. Have Ane teach those spells to our non-combatants."

"Will do. We'll handle everyone's training. So I want you to rest."

A yawn catches me by surprise, teasing a chuckle from Vy.

"See. You're tired." She presses a kiss to my brow. "Sleep. I'll wake you."

**_8-8_**

* * *

Walking around on deck, I see the most curious of sights. Vy casts a fireball out at the sea, and ten archers rain arrows down on it, trying to turn the spell into a pincushion.

I blink.

Vy casts another fireball, and the archers scramble to loose their ethereal arrows at it.

I blink.

Vy casts another.

That's one way to maximize training.

"Alma?" I look down, smiling at Galsa as she peers up at me. She raises her hands, wordlessly asking me to pick her up. I beam, scooping her up and kissing her. "Are you gonna leave me?"

I jerk back, as if struck by her words.

"Do you want me to?" I ask, tears stinging my eyes.

She shakes her head violently, no.

"Do you want to stay with me?"

She nods, tearing up.

"I want you to stay with me, too." I kiss her again, gently nudging her to lay her head on my shoulder. She buries her little face in the nape of my neck, her breath warm against the icy chill of the salty air. "I love you, Galsa. And alma will always take care of you, okay?"

She nods, her warm tears streaking down my neck.

**_8-8_**

* * *

Stepping up onto the docks of Windhelm, I find only grey skies and busy deckhands about. The trip was pretty uneventful—I slept through most of it.

Now? Now my people are in motion, and attracting quite a few curious glances as we unload our goods. Everyone holds a bag, though some of the men pair up and stack chests atop each other, and grab the lowest one by the handles, hoisting them up onto the dock.

Like Ane and me, all the mothers gather their children, holding the youngest in our arms, and we all make our way up—Scarlet and Vy holding me to steady me.

I make sure to bow to the captain, to thank him—he bows in kind, his eyes lit up for some reason.

"It was a pleasure to have you aboard the Northern Maiden, Lady Reyda. I do hope you'll sail with us again someday."

Touched as I am, a bow is all he gets from me.

It's slow going, but we lug our things up nearly a hundred stone stairs, up to the city proper, but we don't linger—not yet. We travel over snow-clad stone, between row after row of chiselled houses of all sizes.

The crowd—mostly Nords—stare. Some with contempt, accompanied by murmurs of 'elf' and other slangs and slings. Others with confusion—whether for the sheer number, the children traveling with us, or that my group makes a clear barrier around me, thereby marking me as the leader.

But it's the Dunmeri that draw my attention, and my curiosity. Their gazes drink in those around me, the chitin and bonemold armours, the elven blades, even how Vy and Dovyn shadow me. A few of the Dunmeri women stare at Galsa, who decides to hide her little face in my neck, obviously hating the attention.

A soft kiss, pressed to Galsa's temple. My hand massages her little back, to set her at ease. Still, her grip on me tells me she doesn't want me to let her go.

"Our group is too large to fit on the carriage." Scarlet's words send a shockwave through the crowd. Apparently, to even consider paying for travel is a luxury. "By Mehra's estimation, it would take at least three trips. What do you wish to do, Serjo?"

Day and a half to get here. Two days to, two days on, and two days from Solstheim. We need to make it to Riften in a day and a half, max. That's our nine day budget. It's too early in the game to show Frey that we can use Mark and Recall, so we need to all head out together. Damn, and I was hoping to leave clues.

"Time is against us. We load our things and the children onto the carriage, everyone that cannot fit, walks behind it."

"Perhaps we could inquire about buying a few horses as well?" Scarlet asks. A bit extravagant, but it certainly has the crowd scraping their jaws up out of the snow.

Hmm. This trip has been expensive beyond belief, and while we will need horses regardless, it's just not something I can justify as yet.

I shake my head, no. "Funds better spent on renovations."

With little more than a nod, Scarlet heads off over to Mehra, no doubt to start making plans.

Through the doors we go, over the almost comically oversized bridge—if there were a drawbridge, it would at least have defensible reasoning. As is, this is little more than a statement of power.

Over to the stable and the carriage for hire parked a stone's throw from it. Mehra starts negotiating something with the driver, whose eyes roam over the sizable crowd. This is a different one from last time, not surprisingly.

"Alright! Chests and bags up onto the wagon!" Mehra belts out, jumping up onto the simple, open air carriage. Everyone starts handing her their bags and she stacks them best she can. Once our things are stowed, she starts calling for the children, with their mothers.

"Serjo." Scarlet beckons to me. I roll my eyes, but don't fight her. She and Vy help me up into the carriage, and help me settle in comfortably. Ane is seated beside me—the only one close enough to accidently touch me.

It's a bit of a squeeze, but we make the most of it.

"It's alright, Ser," Ane murmurs, gently tugging my head towards her shoulder. "Rest. I'll be sure to wake you."

**_8-8_**

* * *

"How long has she been like this?"

"Few weeks. And it's been steadily getting worse."

"I see."

"Please do not speak your suspicions. She is under winolalvios, and she will not take the news well."

"How long could she remain oblivious, sera?"

"I…don't know."

"She has a handmaiden?"

"She isn't the type to let anyone do everything for her. We have enough trouble keeping her out of combat."

"Then it is time she starts thinking about her Galsa."

"She'd just bring her into the thick of it, and believe she could fight her way out regardless."

"That…"

"She was shot by an arrow and didn't even notice."

"I believe it."

"What if…hey. You're an experienced mother, right?"

"Provided my children stay with me, I will gladly serve Silvarkhan wherever she goes."

"Good."

**_8-8_**

* * *

We arrive at the gates to Riften going on noon. It's day nine. As long as we make it to Riftweald Manor by sunset, it's a win in my eyes.

Scarlet and Ane thank the driver profusely, while Mehra starts organizing our…My people. My warriors, my workers, and my citizens.

Galsa mumbles something incoherent as she slumbers, her nose rubbing against my neck and her grip tightening for no apparent reason. I kiss her and murmur that I love her and sweet dreams.

With short, jerky steps, I work out the kinks of sitting uncomfortably for the last day and a half. Vy and Ane flank me, for some reason, with each having a hand on my side to steady me. Dovyn waits at the foot of the carriage with Scarlet, and together they help me down.

Once steady on my feet, we gather everyone and everything over to one side, so the driver can leave if he so desires. Mehra comes to me, questions in her eyes.

"The plan is simple," I begin, murmuring to only those closest to me can hear—and so Galsa won't wake up before she's ready. "Vilvyni and Dovyn have selected extra guards. You will take all others to Faldar's Tooth, along with our haul. We will come tomorrow to start organizing. Until then, you are personally in charge of getting everyone settled in."

"As you command, Serjo." Mehra bows, heading off to see to our people. Curiously, six of our warriors are standing at attention nearby—along with their mothers, and younger siblings. I now have three handmaidens, it would seem.

Everyone meant to head to Faldar's Tooth turn to face me, bowing low. I nod, smiling brightly for them.

With little else to do, we head into Riften. The guards take one look at us, before their eyes go wide at the sight of the Dunmeri armours of our new guards. They eye my people's elven weaponry, the full quivers of elven arrows.

Still, they let us in and we head Riftweald's rear entrance. We head right upstairs, and put our knapsacks—you know, the ones I'm suddenly forbidden to carry—in our room, along with the extra bedrolls we scored.

Sofie and Ulen go out of their way to welcome me back, and Sofie squeals at being introduced to Talare and a still sleeping Galsa.

Cute as it all is, I need something confirmed. I'm tired of my curiosity not being sated. "Scarlet. I need you to go to the Maran temple. Talk to Dinya. I need a private meeting as soon as possible."

Everyone looks nervous. I nod, having suspected as much.

"No way! Serjo's gonna have a baby!" Sofie has no tact. I groan, rolling my eyes up to the heavens. "Best! Day! Ever!"

**_8-8_**

* * *

Staring dead ahead, eyes out of focus. Words are spoken, though none seep through the haze.

Two words loop through my whole world.

Congratulations.

Pregnant.

I'm. I'm pregnant. I'm with child. Cylben's baby grows inside me. I'm going to be a mother…

That heartless fetcher! I'm gonna kill him! Getting me fucking pregnant and then leaving me alone for…

No. It's Frey I need to kill. There's no way in Oblivion I'm letting him hold me or my babies…

And what about Meridia? I need to…

But I need…

Fuck.

FUCK!

FU~UUUUUUUCK!

Arms wrap around me. I'm scooped up and carefully sat in a chair. More words are spoken. Warmth against my face, my cheeks are cupped.

"Fuck."

"It's alright, Ser." Arms wrap around me. "It's alright. I've got you."

"Fuck."

"Shh shh shh shh shh. Just let it out."

"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck."

"Well. That too, I guess."

"Fuck you."

Vy laughs, holding me a little tighter. "I know it doesn't feel like it, not right now. But I promise you, Reyda. It's gonna be alright. We're gonna make this alright. For you, for Sofie, for Galsa, and for your baby."

I hold her so tight, my whole world quaking.

"Fuck."

"It's alright, ser. I've got you. We're not leaving you. You're not going to be alone through this. I swear it on my ancestors."

Cylben might not even find me before…"Fuck."

**_8-8_**

* * *

Before the hearth. Tongues of flame dance to the fire's crackles. Galsa asleep in my arms. Ane seated beside me, Talare asleep in hers.

With the official confirmation in hand, Vy and Dovyn sent word to Faldar's Tooth. Suddenly, six extra guards aren't enough. As I understand it, there are two stationed by the front door, two by the back door, two by the front balcony, two by the back balcony, and four outside my bedroom door.

As if that isn't enough, there are an additional ten in house so they can take shifts. All women, too. 'So there is nothing to complain about,' being the exact wording of my chap'thil.

There are also now eight handmaidens going about every room and seeing to every little thing. Ulen has been assigned as the butler, so he's in charge of keeping the entire manor in top shape at all times.

And what's more? Everyone other than Talare and Galsa is armed to the teeth—Dovyn's first order of business, of course.

The room is filled with the snores of my people and the waxing and waning of the footfalls of the guard keeping every iota of the manor under surveillance.

It's odd. Surrounded by virtual strangers, I am more at ease.

A knock at the door. "Serjo? You have a guest. Thane Mercer Frey. Ulen says you may be willing to see this one."

"See him in," I say and the footsteps retreat. Not a minute later, the door is opened, and Frey enters. His eyes are narrowed and his shoulders tense. "Forgive the break in tradition. The guards are not yet accustomed to their roles. I shall see that they are made aware of your position."

"…" His eyes widen as he works his mouth, but the words do not come.

"I fear things have changed drastically. It is why I've asked you here with such haste."

His eyes narrow, studying Vy and Dovyn standing behind me, and Scarlet sitting on our bed reading a new spellbook.

"Dinya Balu, the priestess of Mara, has confirmed that I am…I'm preg_nant_." My voice breaks, no matter how I try to stifle the emotions. "As such, my chap'thil demand a proper guard for me."

Frey closes his eyes, seemingly thinking about it.

"There's more, I'm afraid. Two conflicting traditions are now in play." I focus on the dancing flames, no longer caring what his reaction is or will be. "Under winolalvios I am forbidden to contact my muthsera's family for any reason. However, my pregnancy demands I make peace with any gods I might have angered, and gather his sisters to me so that house traditions may be observed."

"I see." No, you don't. You don't have a clue just how utterly fucked my life has become.

Sigh. "That means I must make amends with the Deadric Prince Meridia, see that her temple is purged without fail. And I must make haste to Blacklight to track down my muthsera's sisters, though preferably his mother as well." Sigh. The timing of all this is fucking with everything.

"As I understand it. Meridia's temple is near Solitude. That's two days travel away. We should be gone for no more than five days dealing with that. Seeing as Riften is closer to Morrowind and has the best trade route, we'll need to come back here and prepare for that trip. It's a week and a half one-way to Blacklight. I should find what we seek within a week of being there."

"Is that so?"

"Mm." I nod. "I've spoken to Riftkhan. Informed her of the trade proposals that should start coming in from Solstheim. She guarantees me that if I were to arrange such a potent trade deal with Blacklight, the title of thane is assured."

"The one thing Maven can't do." His laughter fills the room. "For all her connections in Cyrodiil, Morrowind is it?"

I see. So he means to humiliate Black-Briar. That's why he needs me as thane.

"Oh my dear, sweet Reyda." My lip twitches up into a sneer. "This is almost too perfect for words."

Tongues of flame dance to the beat of the crackling fire. Once again, the room is filled only with snoring and the waxing and waning footfalls of my people on patrol. Frey doesn't even notice none in this house are loyal to him, or he doesn't care.

My hand rubs Galsa's little back in slow, deliberate circles to calm me down.

"I'm curious how you'll spin this to your advantage. The five days to Solitude, granted. And I'll agree to a three-month return trip to Blacklight, provided you have at least one healer here."

"It will be done."

"As well." I frown. It's never enough. For a thief like you, enough is never enough, is it. "You must return with a symbol of power. Something uniquely Dunmer. Something that will show of your status within the Dunmer community."

"Hmm." What would he know about that? I could return with a lump of coal and tell tall tales about it, he wouldn't have much of a choice but to believe me. "Something Riftkhan would believe symbolizes status, or the Dunmeri of the Rift?"

"Both." Of course. He turns and leaves. My guard shakes her head, muttering about disrespectful n'wahs as she closes the door.

**_8-8_**

* * *

Step by step, ever upwards, ever towards a migraine I'd rather never deal with. My feet thud against the uncaring stone, the staccato mixing with those that follow me.

Sofie decided she'd rather chew stones that remain in Riftweald—I haven't the heart to blame her. Doubly so, since Ane and I both refuse to stay there, and we refuse to let Galsa and Talare out of our sight.

We make it up to the highest floor of the tallest tower. And over to the chest that contains the one thing I wish we'd never found.

With a creak and a groan, the gem comes into view once again.

No point in delaying the inevitable. I reach in, grabbing the chunk of a gem.

**"So you finally noticed, mortal."**

"It's nice to see you, too."

A snort ripples through my skull. **"You lie as well as you take orders."**

"So. Mount Kilkreath. Temple. Necro you need dead. I assume you will leave my child out of your scheming for this?"

**"I am the Lady of Life, not death. I wouldn't have harmed your child regardless."**

"So Daedric Princes don't get petty when the mood suits them?"

**"_I_ do not. If you had—"**

"Obeyed like a good little slave?" She sighs. "What you Daedra forget is that it doesn't matter what kills us. Death adds up to the same thing in the end."

**"And what you forget, is that who you serve in life dictates which realm of death you will be allotted."**

"We're going to have these little debates a lot. Aren't we."

**"The thought has crossed my mind, yes. But that will come in time. Now shoo, and take my beacon with you."**

**_8-8_**

**_End Chapter 8_**

**_8-8_**

* * *

**_A/N: This is where things get...complicated._**


	9. of Life and Death

**_From Talos, with Love_**

**_"With great power comes great responsibility. A shame they never mentioned a nocked arrow or a dagger dipped in poison, because I'm not taking responsibility for any of that."_**

**_Chapter 9—of Life and Death_**

**_8-8_**

* * *

Our first stop. Of all the places on Nirn, Ivarstead is the first stop on the way out of The Rift. I right my silver and sapphire circlet, my leather gloves feeling warm against my forehead.

"We stay at the inn for the night." I look at the still brightly lit sky, wondering about this. "We take the pass through the mountain at first light. Don't nobody wanna be caught on that pass in the dark. No sirree."

Vilvyni and Scarlet help me down from the wagon, and we stroll over to the Vilemyr Inn, with Lynly singing and strumming her lute. Dovyn opens the door, walking in and holding it open for me—Vy escorts me in like I'm some sort of royalty. Wilhelm takes one look at us, at me, and grumbles for us to have a seat, that someone'll come by to take our order.

Either that oaf doesn't bother to look, or I look so different that none would look past my outfit to see if there's a familiar face lurking behind it.

Or is it that they just didn't bother to know me in the first place? Who knows, or cares.

Our supper is ordered just as the door swings open. Wide-arm walks in, her axe slung over her shoulder, per the norm. She takes one look at us, skins up her nose and walks over to a different table.

I see. The woman I used to be…she no longer exists. A snuffed out candle, with little more than smoke to mark her passing.

Didn't like it here anyway.

**_8-8_**

* * *

The carriage rocks gently to and fro to the thocking of hoof on dirt. The trees have gone from the light-bark birch of the Rift and Whiterun to the snow-clad dark-bark cedars of Haafingar. All through this trip, I've been gathering my ingredients. We just need an adept at pottery, to make all the pots we'll need for planting—continually buying them will get expensive sooner rather than later.

Vy and Dovyn discarded any notion of 'I can handle this', so while Sofie is playing some kind of hand-clapping game with Talare to the cheering of Galsa, they are surrounded by my usual three, four of our chitin-clad archers, and two bonemold-clad greatsword-wielders. With me, that makes ten. Ten warriors—I hope it'll be enough for one necromancer.

What can I do but sigh and continue spying the plethora of ingredients I can telekinetically pluck from my perch.

Ooh, juniper berries!

I cast Telekinesis and pluck as many of them as I can see, stuffing them in my already three quarter full knapsack.

"Alma?" I stuff the last berry in and turn my full attention to Galsa. She rubs her eye with one hand, holding her doll a little tight to not drop her. I scoop her up and plop her in my lap, pressing a kiss to her brow.

A mighty yawn escapes her as she continues rubbing her eye.

"Os daelhag ohn, alma," she murmurs and plops her head against my chest.

"I love you, Galsa," I murmur right back, kissing her crown repeatedly and wrapping her nice and snug in my arms. She lets loose a sniffled sigh, rubbing her nose against my jacket. "Sweet dreams."

Hmm. The sun is low on the horizon. We'll probably stop soon.

We continue on for another half hour, before the driver calls out that we'll be stopping for the night. We pull off the road near a bridge, the lights of a town in the distance becoming more and more obvious as the light dims.

"I was 'oping to reach Dragon Bridge by now." The driver's words reek of fear, though for the life of me I can't figure out why. The bridge is pretty small, so this obviously isn't the bridge he means. Not that it matters.

Though Solitude is a half-day's travel yet, I can see it nestled against the mountain in the distance. The walls are all lit up, and the Blue Palace even more so—peeking up over a cairn, as if the landmark was set for that purpose.

How strange. The worst thing I've ever suffered through—being kidnapped and held against my will—consistently leads to the most fulfilling things I've ever experienced. I swear, if Cylben were here with me, I wouldn't even care about Frey and his petulance.

And I really need to get Galsa into a healthy rhythm. She and the others have already been through so much. Well. Mehra has orders to scout the area for needed resources and to put our miners to work. And the stonemasons are meant to present a proposal for the renovation of Faldar's Tooth—including a village to house everyone while the fort is made unlivable. With a little luck, things should be well under way by the time we get back from Blacklight.

"Silvarkhan?" I smile for my handmaiden, accepting the jerked meat and half loaf of bread she offers. It takes some effort, but I wake Galsa and we share in our meagre meal. Once we've both eaten our fill, the tea we'd steeped before leaving Riften is poured for everyone, as chilled as the air around us.

It's horrid. The bread is a bit stale, the meat is tough and salty and bland, and the tea is purposely too weak. Ane was quite insistent on every detail of it, for some reason.

We'd best restock in Solitude before heading back. And we really need to come up with a better plan for the trip to Blacklight. I'm not sure I can stomach this for that long.

**_8-8_**

* * *

A scream. I jerk awake to the sound of bows thwanging and arrows lodged into armour. Galsa holds me tight, her tears burning into my skin in the worst way—I hate how she trembles, how she fears.

"Nock!" Scarlet orders, our warriors nock a new arrow just as I stand in the wagon. "Draw!" More silhouettes cross the river down the way, hunched down as if simple beasts. "Loose!" Eight arrows fly, finding home in the silhouettes.

"Hold on tight. Mama wants her baby right here with her, okay?" I walk to the end of the wagon, with Galsa holding on so tight I don't even have to hold her. I craft Telekinesis, jerking limbs forward and tripping the silhouettes up in their dash for my people. Vy and Dovyn almost fly to me, bows in hand and glowing in the night.

"Nock!" Scarlet keeps up her role, and our warriors follow command without fail. But they aren't marksmen, not by any stretch. I conjure my bow, take a ready stance, and nock my arrow. I loose, nock, and draw.

Over and over and over, every time a silhouette moves, I treat it to an arrow of its very own. When no more movement catches my eye, I cast Detect life, finding only retreating reds, with a curious blue and screams to be saved.

"Serjo! They have Ane and Talare!" Scarlet gives me the worst news of my life.

Vy helps me down onto the dirt. Her eyes are drawn, no doubt in tears for not protecting them. I cup her cheek, unsurprised with the moisture I find. I cast Detect life, seeing the reds moving further and further away.

So much bullshit for such a short trip.

I stroll out into the night, unsurprised all our warriors follow. I pace myself, not wanting to be winded when we get there.

We move, cross the river, through an unoccupied camp. Each time I cast Detect Life, I find more and more reds up ahead. The growling and howling tells me there are bears—perhaps two or three.

I conjure my bow, but don't nock as yet. Further and further into the unforgiving night.

Movement.

I case Detect Life. Spiders.

Nock, draw, and loose, the dying screech assaults the silence, and suddenly a dozen spiders, each as large as me, are in a frenzy. A grizzled howl, the bears don't like the action in their territory, so they come as well. Stupid bears.

A glob of fire flashes out into the night, lighting up the scene. Three pairs of glowing eyes, and five asshole spiders with their multifaceted shitfaces. Taking full advantage, I loose arrow after arrow, using the light as best I can. Vilvyni fires another glob of fire when the first explodes in a bear's face, obviously noticing I could use the light.

I just keep loosing and loosing and loosing. Not one of our warriors gets off a shot before the last of the assholes is in their death throes. And we just keep on moving, not even breaking stride.

Detect Life. The red silhouette of whatever took my people retreats, the blue of Ane and Talare still with them. They're too far. If I loose an arrow, I risk hitting my own. So we follow. Right up into a cave's mouth, the air in there stinking of spiders and stale water and death.

One foot in front of the other, into a cave no one would want to enter. I keep following the blue, my precious people.

Down a corridor with ankle-high still waters. There's no movement to be seen, but every time the spell casts, I see the retreating blue and the provisionally breathing reds taking them. Talare's screaming echoes, grating on my every nerve—how fucking dare those shits take her from us.

More spiders come, but they barely notice us before they get a taste of my arrows.

A wide cavern. There's dozens of glowing mushrooms here, lending an eerie glow to the place. I see one of the bastards up on a ledge, and lodge an arrow in its face. A war-grunt goes up, and the other reds come flooding back towards us.

They jump down trying to get to us faster, spiders coming at us all the same. Unfortunately for them, the glow is enough.

Enough that I see their sickly pale faces, their helmets covering their eyes, their mouths open as they point their malformed blades at us.

"Vy. Dovyn. Focus on the spiders. I'll deal with them." Galsa holds me even tighter as I nock another arrow and lodge it in the nearest asshat's mouth.

The cavern is filled with the thwang of arrowfire, as more and more of those…things come rushing us. They know they will die, that means they guard whatever is back there—their home, no doubt.

It takes less than a minute before silence returns. Detect life reveals only two blues just a little deeper in. "Vy. Your girls await."

Not needing to be told twice, my chap'thiil dashes ahead, with Dovyn hot on her heels. I take my time, sauntering behind them and just holding Galsa, peppering her with kisses to show she's perfectly safe.

My warriors form a barrier around me, Scarlet at my side, her eyes smiling ever brighter. It's but a moment later that my chap'thil are before me, Vy holding Talare and Ane like she'd never see them again.

"I'm sorry, Serjo, I—"

"You've done nothing wrong," I say, my tone as soothing as possible given I'm still plenty pissed. "Vilvyni. Your girls are safe, but our vengeance is but half meted out. You and Dovyn will take half our warriors with you. Do as your darker impulses would demand."

"What about you, Ser?" Dovyn asks.

"I'm going back to the wagon. Scarlet and the others will come with me. I will tolerate not so much as a scratch on any of you. And if you find slaves, you're permitted to claim them in my name."

The siblings grin, their eyes glowing with vindication.

"And Vy." I turn, ready to leave. "Ensure that you tuck your girls in properly when you get back. They've had a horrid night, they do not need to worry for your safety on top of it all."

**_8-8_**

* * *

Breakfast the next morning finds us in a much happier mood. Talare clings to her mothers, unwilling to not have one of them holding her at all times, but everyone is far more at ease. Our warriors, all Dunmeri women, go out of their way to dote on me and Galsa. They no doubt realized that all people under my command are under my protection—and they've seen firsthand just what that really means.

A Dunmerii silverette, in her teens from the look of her, keeps staring at me, her eyes wide with fear. Vy informed me everything else with a pulse in that place is no longer counted among the living—she seemed quite pleased when she told me there were a few Aldmerii down there. And she was even more pleased when she said she gutted them as they screamed and begged to serve me. I need to do something nice for her.

Even Sofie is so much more at ease, for some reason.

"What's your name?" Sofie asks the new addition. The silverette opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. "It's alright. If you're here, that means you're under Serjo's protection. So no one's gonna hurt you, I promise." Sofie hands the girl some jerked pork, and a goblet with tea.

The silverette stares at her hands, at the food and drink she's offered. "Iv…Iveri," she manages. "My name is. Iveri."

"Well, Iveri. Eat up," Sofie says, smiling even as she bites into her breakfast.

We set out not a half hour later, after everyone's seen to their needs—under full guard this time, not willing to take any more risks. I love how Vy and Scarlet insist on 'full guard', when they've not let me do much of anything without at least six fully armed warriors within a hair's breadth of me.

The gentle rocking of the wagon almost sets me back to sleep, but Ane keeps prodding me, trying to start a conversation.

"Really, Serjo. This is important." I shake myself awake, or as awake as my situation will allow. "You need a nursemaid. And Sofie isn't against it."

I roll my eyes, knowing just what that is supposed to mean—Sofie would be charged with making me climax on a daily basis. Or as needed, seeing as my body's been craving it. She's a child, though. Children shouldn't be given tasks like that, no matter how willing.

"You need someone to help raise Galsa, don't you?"

I blink, and cock an eyebrow.

"Serjo, really. You need someone to hold her if you're firing your bow? Or if you're casting spells? Or if you just want to get some sleep? Sleep is something you desperately need, isn't it?"

I laugh, throwing my head back as the absurdity hits me. She simply has no idea how things really work, does she.

**_8-8_**

* * *

**"Only one may enter the temple." **Meridia is, once again, being an absolute dick. You'd think with the beautiful view of the snow-clad mountains and forest around us, with the perfectly chiselled stone forming the most gorgeous statue and her beacon's receptacle glowing bright as the white-ish gem besets it once again, someone as vast and wise as a Daedric Prince would chill the fuck out. But then, Meridia's been nothing if not consistent with me.

"You said you want this necromancer dead," I deadpan.

**"Yes. And only one powerful enough stands a chance. Your people are weak, unfitting. Only the strong may serve me."**

"Alright. How about this. Convince my chap'thil that I'm going without them, and I'll agree."

**"They answer to you, I do not. You will enter alone, or you will not enter."**

"Well. I tried," I say, shrug, and turn heel, walking away from the altar of her oversized ego.

A sigh follows me. **"Reyda. I am trying to save their lives. Not one of them is strong enough to withstand the might of that foul demon."**

"And just your luck, I'm pregnant. What are the odds of me battling that strong a foe and remaining so?"

**"Because I will safeguard your child."**

"Strong enough to keep my child safe, not strong enough to purge her own temple."

**"I am more than…"** Another sigh. **"Reyda. Has it ever occurred to your limitless ignorance that there is more going on here than you know?"**

"Has it occurred to you that I agree solely for the sake of my child?"

**"When those wretches stole your servant from you." **I freeze.** "When you entered the cave. Who was the protector? Them? Or you?"**

"You miss the point."

**"Do I? Or is it you who misses the point? I sense their power, their potential. Beside you, they are as candles lit at mid-summer's noon. They wouldn't even be able to power my beacons inside, which would amplify my power to keep you safe. If they enter with you, it is them who endanger your child."**

"Give me one good reason."

**"One. Aiding me now will grant you Dawnbreaker. A symbol of power that you need to prove yourself to your muthsera's house."**

Sigh.

**"Two. In wielding Dawnbreaker, your telekinetic potential is brought to the surface and magnified. Meaning you would possess a power even they would respect."**

My face goes slack.

**"Three. I would guide him to you. Ensure you are reunited before you give birth to a healthy baby girl."**

My hand rubs my abdomen, right where my baby grows inside me.

**"Do as I ask, Reyda."**

The shit I go through for that man. "Everyone. Wait here. I'll be back soon." I veer off to the left, not even looking back as I make my way down the path, round the building, to two large stone doors I somehow knew would be here.

Sigh. Hands on either side of the divide.

This is for Cylben.

This is for our daughter.

This is for the future I never dared dream of.

I push.

**_8-8_**

* * *

I'm gonna die.

I'm sooooo gonna fucking die.

I don't get it. Everything up until this last room was simplicity itself. The supposed puzzle to get to each beacon? Child's play. Those ghost-like things? Sniped them off before they even spotted me. Hell, even the asshole standing in there was easy to snipe, since I saw him before he saw me.

The one thing I didn't expect? The one fucking thing. Was necro-asshole somehow resurrecting himself, and his fucking wraith spamming those ice blasts like I spam arrows.

If I didn't slip into a nook in the corridor, just barely large enough to fit me, I'd have died from the first blast—and that was almost a half hour ago.

Meridia was right about one thing—none of my people would have survived this. Not one. Even if Galsa was here, frostbite would have fucked her up by now.

And those fucking blasts! Every other second! Every. Other. Damned. Second. Constantly. For the last half hour. Does he have an unlimited supply of magicka? What the actual fuck!

Another blast, the air around me so cold I'm breathing smoke. I cast Detect Life, finding nothing. Uh, right—he's no longer alive. The asshole.

I sigh as another blast blazes past.

I reach into my dress, grabbing the pendant Cylben gave me. "Cylben." His name rolls off the tongue, even now. Especially now.

Another blast.

"I dunno if I'll get through this, Cylben."

Three blasts back to back. This asshole just doesn't run out of magicka.

"Cylben." Over and over, I keep muttering his name. Tears run down my face, knowing that one misstep right now would cost me my baby, maybe even my life. "Cylben."

Light. A warmth fills me as my magicka pours into the amulet. A silhouette appears before me, with scarlet eyes and a deep scowl. I clasp the amulet tighter, my free hand over my womb to protect my baby best I can.

Those eyes, they follow my hand, stare at my belly. And the silhouette lets loose an enraged cry like I've never heard, storming towards the necromancer.

Claps of thunder and huffs of spellflame fill the air, the bursts of cold suddenly halted.

Detect Life shows nothing. Whatever it is, there's no life near me. And yet, not a minute later, the same silhouette comes back, stops right in front of me.

Those eyes. A gaze the seeps into my very bones. Dunmerii, no doubt in my mind, but what does this one want with me? Why is that gaze so focused on my hand, on my baby?

Hands raise, palms seemingly empty to show they mean no harm. A step closer. I can't back up any more, I should be panicked. But there's something about this one, something familiar.

The silhouette…the nightmarishly familiar silhouette taps the amulet Cylben gave me.

He leans in, so close our noses touch. His beet red eyes light up with a thousand different emotions—all vying to steal the air from my lungs. He looks like he wants to kiss me, to start me up once again.

He flicks my nose.

No.

No…

No. No. No no no no nonononononono.

Rivers flow down my cheeks, down my trembling jaw.

"Cyl…"

"Serjo!"

"Ser! Where in Oblivion is she?"

The silhouette evaporates, sucked into the amulet, taking my ability to stand right along with it.

"Cylben."

Thundering footsteps, like a stampede. A flash of blues. Red eyes, wide with shock. Warm hands cupping my cheek, drying my tears.

I stand, eyes out of focus as I stumble down the corridor. Into the room, where the necromancer lies. To the back of the room is a pedestal, with a glowing light.

My hand wraps around it, feeling the warmth of life teeming within. Pull. Up, up, and out of the pedestal. It's a sword, I think.

**"And so, our contract is complete. Do with Dawnbreaker as you please."**

The temptation to drive this fucking blade through my own heart sears in my skull. Arms are around my middle before I blink, holding me, steadying me. "Reyda. Reyda. Please, say something, Reydaserjo."

"Cyl…Cylben…my Cylben."

**_8-8_**

* * *

A dark corner. The room is full of people. A plate of food sits before me. We're in some tavern, in some city. Somewhere.

Somewhere.

"Serjo. You need to eat." My nose points at the speaker, but my eyes just won't focus. "Come on, think of the—Ow! What was that for?"

My baby. My Galsa and my baby. They need me to eat, to grow strong.

I blink, the chowder comes into focus. I take the wooden spoon and—

"Alma?" Little hands tug at my sleeve. A mess of silver hair. Bright little eyes weighed down and teary. I scoop her up, set her on my lap. She fusses and wriggles, moving around so she faces me and cup my cheeks. "Don't cry, alma."

My cheeks puff up, trying to pill my lips up into a smile.

I grab the spoon, ladle what I can stomach into my mouth and chew. Over and over, until I scrape the bottom of the wooden bowl. Someone takes the spoon from me, obviously deeming me a complete fuckwit.

"Here." My hand is wrapped around a goblet. I point my nose at the speaker, quirking my lips up into as much of a smile as I can offer. I bring cup to lips, slurping in the cold tea as best I can. When empty, it's taken from me.

Taken, just like—

I stand, holding Galsa against me so she doesn't risk falling and hurting herself. Vy and Scarlet are quick to guide me to our room for the night.

"Are you…alright, Serjo?" Ane asks the second the door closes behind us, her eyes worried.

"I'm fine. Just…No. I'm fine. My muthsera's fine—he has to be." I shake my head to clear the cobwebs, pressing a dry kiss to Galsa's brow. My baby girl…my girls. I sit on the bed and let Galsa hold me for as long as she wants, as tight as she wants."Meridia said we're having a daughter. I mean, she lied about that, so maybe this's also a lie. But what do you think about Mireli?"

Ane and Vy share a look, their brows furrowed as they regard me. "It's a lovely name, Ser," Ane says, her smile a bit strained.

"I think so," I say, looking down at Galsa. Something about the indulgence in their eyes rubs me the wrong way. It shouldn't—nothing's the matter, after all. But it's just too much all the same.

"Alma?" Galsa pulls back, her eyes wide and teary. "Don't cry, alma. Please don't cry." Her little hands cup my cheeks and wipe my tears away. Why am I crying? Nothing's wrong. Nothing. Nothing's wrong.

"It's alright, baby. Alma's just tired. Do you think alma should take a nap?" Galsa nods.

**_8-8_**

* * *

Sleep doesn't come. No matter how tired I am, no matter how Galsa's snoring lulls me. Sleep hates me.

Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is that silhouette. The form of my Cylben, his eyes, his mannerisms. His protectiveness of me—even though I could kick his ass.

But no. It can't be. It has to have been Meridia playing tricks on me. Meridia must be tricking me. After all, she knows of what happened in the cave—even though I didn't know those were Falmer…

No, she's wrong. She's wrong. She has to be wrong. Cylben wouldn't leave me, not when I need him most.

"Can't sleep, Ser?" My eyes flutter open, finding—what's her name? The silverette.

"No. Sleep seems to hate me," I say, biting back a sigh. My fingers comb through Galsa's hair, her gentle snores soothing me. Iveri, that's her name. Iveri…something. "What about you?"

Iveri sits in a chair, in the corner, away from us. Her ruby eyes staring at nothing in particular. "I…Thank you, Reydaserjo. If not for you, I…"

"You have nightmares." My words come out cold, lifeless. "Scenes that plague you every time you close your eyes."

Vy stands at the door, staring at nothing in particular.

"Does," Iveri clutches her dress, bunching the fabric and wrinkling it, "it get easier?"

Figuring sleep won't come, and that company is always more preferable, I sit up and ease back against the headboard. "The first time I saw a wolf I was," hmm, it was long ago, "young. Don't remember how young. All I had on me was a dagger, and here comes this wild beast. No one around to save me. Just me and her."

"Her?"

"Mm. A mother and two pups. She must have decided I was the perfect prey to teach how to hunt, or something." Galsa turns, her legs flopping into my lap and her hands clapping Ane's face, waking her—poor thing. I cast Telekinesis, tumbling Galsa into my lap, and she curls up into a ball. "Don't remember how I survived, but I remember those nightmares well. Seeing the mother and her two pups that I killed."

I snort, shaking my head. "It sounds trivial now, but at the time, it was," shaking my head, I chase the familiar demons, "it was too much. It didn't stop bothering me until I talked to a friend about it. And that took months."

Iveri chuckles, dry and lifeless. "Talk about it? What good would…?" She shakes her head, her face slack and her eyes fearful. "Forgive me, Serjo, I—"

A yawn catches me by surprise. "Mm." My eyelids feel heavy for some reason. "Maybe it'll help you. Maybe it won't. The true question? What harm could come from speaking of it to someone you trust?"

**_8-8_**

* * *

There's no need to feel guilty, Reyda. You've done nothing wrong. At all. Cylben's fine, after all. So why feel guilty for wanting to take a few hours in Solitude to shop around?

Iveri packs the sets of fine clothes, fine gloves, and fine boots into the knapsack atop the range of children's clothing we already bought, while Scarlet pays the…clerk. If there were any other clothier in Solitude, we certainly would have gone there—the n'wahs.

At any rate, we have what we need and we no longer need to interact with those fetchers. Once outside, and no longer in their unbearable stink, the hubbub of the city washes over me. Children squealing and running around, no doubt playing tag. The city guard patrol, giving us constant side-long glances, as if only waiting a reason to be the asses they clearly are.

The buildings are so tall here, with the castle dour looming higher still. The plastered stone so smooth, you'd think it silk. This place is as paradise compared to everything I know of the Rift.

Vy offers Ane and I her elbows, to escort us. I shake my head, no. Vy's eyes narrow as her head jerks back ever so slightly—the unasked 'why' made all the more obvious with the slightly cocked eyebrow.

My gaze flickers to Talare, who's just tugging Ane's hand and looking up with that oh so trusting gaze.

"Alma?" Galsa tugs my sleeve, lifting her hands up even as she rubs her eye. I scoop my baby girl up, holding her close to me. She only snuggles closer and murmurs into my ear as if telling me a secret, "Daelhag ohn."

"Love you," I whisper right back and kiss her cheek and brow and hair and wherever my lips land. A tiny nose rubs against my neck, little arms snake around my neck, and the disquiet in me stills.

Don't know why I felt anxious. Cylben's fine.

**_8-8_**

* * *

Rocking along in the wagon, the driver continues chatting with Scarlet about something or other. Dunno what, don't much care.

All I care about is how my people surround me, how Iveri and Sofie lay wolf pelts on the floor so I can get comfortable and sleep whenever it suits me. Interestingly, Dovyn ordered Iveri to act as my pillow. Not complaining about that—even though I really should point out that Dovyn isn't so high on the food chain that he can order _everyone_ around. Still, I won't complain in front of the driver.

Galsa sits in my lap as I lean back into Iveri's warmth, and holds an elaborate conversation with her doll, cradling her, holding her up to the sky, whispering to her how beautiful she is, how precious she is, and how wise and strong she will be. The whole time, my fingers dance through her hair, combing and braiding for her to look her best.

The wagon pulls over, stopping alongside the road. A city looms in the distance, its bright stone and white-washed houses unfamiliar to me.

"Whiterun," the driver says, sounding relieved. "Should make it to Riverwood by sundown."

Not sure what to make of him, but the last trip meant stopping over in Ivarstead—that was awkward. Maybe it was the silver and sapphire circlet, maybe it was the exquisite clothing, or how my people were so protective of me. Maybe I just didn't matter. Maybe I don't—

"Serjo?" Iveri nudges me. "Come. We don't have long."

They help me down and out the wagon, and Galsa comes for me to scoop her up. We wander a bit off the way, behind a thicket of bushes where Vy and Scarlet check it's safe—and stand guard to boot. Galsa and I quickly relieve ourselves, and I stand watch so the others can take their turn—though they'd argue Iveri stands watch and I'm just minding Galsa.

"Ser?" Iveri seems to have something to say, though I mostly keep sniffing and scanning around to see if anything poses a threat. "Scarlet tells me we head for Blacklight?"

I nod. What else is there to do? I need to find…I nod repeatedly and scoop up Galsa and hold her just a little tighter—my baby is as eager to hold me as I am her.

Vy's gaze burns into my skin, Scarlet's soon follows.

**_8-8_**

* * *

We make it to Riverwood about an hour before sunset. The driver parks the wagon opposite the tavern—the 'sleeping giant inn'. What is it with the weird tavern names? Still. Either here or Ivarstead, and I doubt we'd make it through the mountain pass before dark. Not sure why stopping in Helgen isn't an option—that doesn't bother me half as much as it should.

The sleepy little town has a grand total of two children, accompanied by the town's sole dog as they run through the street. Yes, street. This place is as tiny as Ivarstead, has a lumber mill like Ivarstead, but somehow has a blacksmith and trader as well—even with a comparable population.

Wooden buildings are of a different style than I'm used to. Ivarstead has an almost 'if I have to' feel about the buildings with Klimmek's and Vilemyr Inn being the only exceptions, but these seem to be built by at least competent craftsmen.

The blacksmith hammers away on his anvil under a wooden canopy. A Bosmerii delivers some firewood, no doubt to keep the forge burning.

We pile out of the wagon and stretch to work out the kinks.

"Hey, Serjo?" Scarlet looks almost pleading as she comes to me. "We need to talk." She and Vy steal my elbows and all but drag me into the inn. Scarlet quickly pays for the room, and I'm 'not' dragged into it, with two of our warriors standing watch outside the door and Dovyn minding Talare and Galsa—or at least, he's the one to shoo me into the room…?

I'm not really sure what's going on. Ane, Sofie, Iveri, and two of my handmaids busy themselves…with something. The door opens and Dovyn hands my maid a bucket of clean water and some wash rags, before the door is shut once again.

"Reyda." Vy turns me around and helps me out of my dress. Even with two of my handmaidens here, Vy suddenly figures it's her duty to bathe me—forgetting I can do that my just fine on my own, thank you. "Would you agree that it's my duty to see that you are tended to at all times?"

"No. As chap'thiil my safety is your primary concern." Somehow, this feels different. I'm surrounded by women, true, but normally while bathing we're all at least partially naked. Instead, everyone's busying themselves around me, and only I wear my birthday suit.

"True, but seeing as I currently represent your muthsera…?"

Sigh. "In essence, yes."

Not another word is spoken. Vy carefully, thoroughly, bathes me and swats my hand away each time I attempt to take over. She dries me and my handmaids hug me, essentially sandwiching me in to keep me warm.

"Getting dressed is more efficient." I cock an eyebrow, wordlessly asking Vy for an explanation.

"What you're doing is bad for Mireli." Tears pour down, betraying my self-control. Such simple words; so why do they feel like a punch to the gut? "So we've discussed the matter at length. The best solution we've come up with, to ensure your House never questions your loyalty to your Muthsera, is to have a woman tend to your needs. Each of us is more than willing to make love to you, Reyda. Over and over. We're even more than happy to share you among us. But you need this. And you're too stubborn to get out of your own way."

Hands cup my cheeks, drying my tears even as they so freely offer me their warmth.

"I'm offering you a chance to select her for yourself. If you won't decide, I'll have no choice but to choose for you." My eyes force shut. "You need this, Reyda. Mireli needs you to be at ease, now more than ever. Please. Say a name and I'll bathe her for you."

Sigh. "I can't do that," I say, eyes forced shut to keep my emotions in check. "Even if you never speak of it, I'll know. I could never hurt…"

"I'm sorry, Reyda. Dovyn and I can't allow for you to hurt Mireli and Galsa like this. Iveri. You'll be her lover until our Muthsera returns."

My eyes flutter open, fearing what I'll find. Iveri's beaming smile disarms me. She stands there, fearless as Ane and Vilvyni help her out of her dress and undergarments, as they wash her ashen skin. Curiously, Ane keeps sneaking little kisses to my chap'thiil, and they seem most careful to ensure Iveri faces me as they move around her.

Little glimpses of her bare breasts, of silvery pubic patch, interspersed with Ane and Vy continually touching and teasing each other, as if setting the mood for us. But there's a look in Iveri's eyes, something I hadn't thought to expect.

Lust. Even as Ane runs a comb through her hair, even as Vy runs a damp cloth between her thighs. Iveri's gaze never fails to meet mine, the building desire never fails to shine through her otherwise blank look.

Ane comes to me, steals me from the warmth of my handmaidens, and lays me out on the room's sole bed. None of them vacate the room.

I meet Vy's gaze, pleading with her. A smirk is all I get, before Vy lays Ane beside me. It's a bit cramped, but Ane takes my hand and smiles to set me at ease.

A kiss on my shin hitches my breathing. Ane's skirt hikes up as Vy works her way up, carefully showing Iveri what to do. My heart thrashes in my chest as the scent of my arousal fills the room.

What is this? Why am I so nervous? Why do I fear meeting Iveri's gaze, even as I feel her looking up at me? What does any of this mean? I was eager to lose my maidenhood, eager to entice him into round after round of lovemaking.

"Ah!" Whether I want to or not, when Iveri kisses my moist centre, my gaze snaps to her. When her tongue slithers out and delves into my depths, I find I couldn't look away if I wanted to.

No matter how needful this is, Iveri doesn't show a soulless devotion to the action itself. Instead, she props my leg up and drapes it over her shoulder, and she explores me. Her gaze wanders up and down my every nook and cranny, but she never tastes of me without fearlessly looking up—as if she seeks to find the thing that pleases me most.

She's slow. Teasingly slow. Every little lick, no matter how it excites me, is interspersed with kisses to my thigh and attention divested to her hand reaching up and dragging her fingertips along my abdomen.

I swat Iveri, giving her a dirty look that only seems to amuse her. Tongue lashes out, assaulting the most sensitive part of me. I cover my mouth, trying to stifle the moans leaping up.

This is just…uh…needful. Yes, for Mireli's sake. That's all this is. To ensure Mireli and Galsa get nothing but the best of me.

Even as my fingers comb through Iveri's hair and my thighs clamp down to keep her from retreating from her ministrations, her only response is to suck in my most tender bit and continue her tongue-lashing inside her mouth.

**_8-8_**

* * *

Walking out of the inn the next morning, I find myself shivering. That Delphine has an odd air about her, like she expects war to break out any second. At least Iveri is looking more presentable—and Vy was kind enough to trim her hair to make her look nicer.

Vy and Scarlet help me up into the wagon once again, for the last leg of the trip, and I'm given no choice but to cuddle up with Galsa—the _horror_, I have to cuddle. Iveri sits on the wolf pelts beckoning for me to come join her. I barely sit between her thighs before Galsa is asked to sit with Talare, so they can play a game. Three bedrolls are spread out over me and Iveri, covering us up to our throats, and Iveri's arms snake around my middle.

"Rest, Ser." Iveri's hushed whisper sends her hot breath down my neck. "I know how poorly you've been sleeping, but you are safe here. I swear it on my ancestors."

The long, lumbering trail down from Riverwood is uneventful; the incline up the mountain pass equally so. The kids play a hand-clapping game, Ane and Sofie take turns singing songs. Mostly it's Vy and Dovyn that set me at ease, how their watchful eyes are ever on the world around us. Those two are comforting to have around.

Iveri keeps smoothing my face and nudging my chin, no doubt meaning for me to lay my head against her. After her fifth try, Vy gives me a pointed glare and a cocked eyebrow. I roll my eyes, leaning more into Iveri and rubbing my nose in her neck. Even after last night, Vy's still this insistent.

Blue mountain flowers. She smells of blue mountain flowers and of sitting by the hearth. And of the vegetable soup we had for breakfast.

But there's something else. Something I can't put my finger on. A scent I can only describe as warm, like sitting by the fire during a snowstorm.

Time trickles by, glacial as these stupid trips always are. Between the rhythmic rocking and the gentle staccato of the trotting horse, I find myself easing into a kind of stupor—like nothing bothers me.

Fingers comb through my hair, constantly knocking into my circlet. "Come, Ser. You cannot expect to rest wearing that," Iveri announces she's been patient enough. She slips my circlet up off my brow, giving that, my ring, and my gloves to Vy.

Her touch is different this time, softer, more curious. Fingertips explore my scalp, from the base of my neck up to the top of my head. Her other hand isn't idle, roaming my abdomen in a fluid but dizzied motion.

I look up at the grey and drab skies, wondering at how comfortable I am having a complete stranger touching me so intimately. Perhaps it's that I trust a woman with my body, perhaps it's that said body craves to be touched. Perhaps it's how my ears ache to hear someone telling me I matter.

"Do you want me to stop?" Her hot breath kisses my neck. Or is that her nose I feel? I shake my head, no, feeling her nose tap against my earlobe.

No, it's her lips I feel against my neck, against my suddenly sensitive skin.

"I swear it, Serjo. If I do anything you do not desire, you need only say 'no' and I'll stop." I nod, understanding. Her lips press against my neck, her searing breath shooting right through me, settling in the pit of my tummy.

"I want to thank you." Her tone seems sincere, but I am far more interested in the nubs poking into my back—curiously hard among the soft flesh of her breasts. "For saving me. For treating me like I matter."

She kisses my neck again, soft and tender and oh so warm.

"That's why." She takes my hand, laying my palm flat on her naked inner thigh. "That's why." Her fingers comb through my hair as her teeth graze my skin. "Anything you need of me. Anything you want of me. I'll gladly give that and more."

My hand slides down her thigh, my touch feather light. Her heart is as a drum, thumping against my back and curiously matching mine. Curious, that she doesn't even attempt to stop me, no matter where my fingers wander.

A thought bubbles up, watching Vy and Ane take turns pleasing each other. Iveri was so diligent in sating my needs. Would it be so horrid to return the favour?

**_8-8_**

* * *

We make it to Riften about an hour after sunset, an uneventful leg of the journey. The guards take one look at me, and quickly decide they don't need any trouble. The streets are poorly lit, but no one troubles us all the same.

We don't even bother with the rear entrance, since my people guard all doors now. They open the door without hesitation at seeing us, welcoming us back. Iveri seems most impressed, seeing the Dunmeri armours they bear—though them welcoming us in Dunmeris certainly isn't hurting things.

"Ah, Reydaserjo, welcome home," Ulen greets us. "Should I see to supper for you?"

I nod, smiling for him.

"As you wish, Ser." Ulen turns to the handmaidens already greeting us. Orders fly this way and that—from drawing a bath for me, to arranging bedding for the new faces. Ulen is effective at what he does.

Vy closes the door behind us, just as Dovyn tosses extra firewood into the hearth.

"It's good to be back," Vy says. The kids whine about being hungry, but don't much seem to care where we are.

It isn't more than a minute later that there's a knock at the door and three maids enter, bearing bathing jugs and fresh linens to dry us. Dovyn excuses himself, no doubt meaning to stand guard outside while we freshen up.

When the door shuts, everyone starts fishing out a fresh change of clothes stacking them on the bed. I can't help but smile when our warriors start helping each other out of their armour—the first time in almost a week they get to take it off.

We take our time, washing ourselves and the kids. Everyone's just happy to be able to have a proper fucking bath. I do make sure Iveri washes up properly.

"Serjo?" One of our warriors stands nods to my sword. "Would it please you if I should have Dawnbreaker cleaned and sharpened?"

I smile. "Be warned, warrior. While I am quite easygoing, my Muthsera might not be. Protocol would demand you bring any such desire to Vilvyni's attention, given she is my chap'thiil."

The woman bows, sorrow in her eyes for putting me in such a position.

"Do not fret. I do not blame you for not knowing things I haven't explained. Please, ensure that everyone knows that all things martial pertaining to me must be discussed with Vilvyni. All things domestic must be discussed with Ulen. Should either deem it worthy of my attention, they will ask that you speak to me directly."

"Of course. A thousand pardons, Reydakhan."

"Now that you mention it. Vy. Dovyn. It's time you both started training my personal guard. Each of you should best select three, for now. And Scarlet. Your training will double. You will be my muscle, and you'll need to start earning that kind of reputation."

They grin, obviously liking the sound of things to come.

"Ane. You'll start your training with Dinya. I'll continue your alchemy lessons at night. You as well, Sofie."

"Ser?" Ane wraps a simple housedress around her, tying it with a cloth belt. "Should I include Laily?"

I furrow my brow, trying to figure out who 'Laily' even is. Ane tugs one of my handmaids, who's still drying herself off. Ah, that's who she means.

"Yes, and please ensure all our non-combatants have Healing training. Scarlet. I need a meeting with Mehra." Scarlet nods, scrubbing under her breasts. "We need to discuss plans for Faldar's Tooth, the trip to Blacklight, and a few projects I've been considering."

Iveri comes, wearing a much nicer dress and jacket—I'm glad she let me pick that out for her. She combs my hair for me, grabbing my circlet.

"Not tonight. We expect no visitors," I say. She nods, setting it and my ring into the closet, and brings Dawnbreaker, helping me to strap it to my belt.

**_8-8_**

**_End Chapter 9_**

**_8-8_**

* * *

**_A/N: Okay, it took longer than I anticipated to get this chapter done. I have a good bit written and plotted, but sometimes little things need to change, and those changes wreak utter havoc later down. So, yeah. This just happened.  
_**


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